VIII

havebrokenherruleagainstdrinkingthatnight,forwhenshearrivedshewasstupidwithliquorandunabletounderstandthattheambulancehadalreadygonetoFlushing.Whentheyconvincedherofthis,sheimmediatelyfainted,asifthatwastheintolerablepartoftheaffair.Someone,kindorcurious,tookherinhiscaranddroveherinthewakeofhersister’sbody. Untillongaftermidnightachangingcrowdlappedupagainstthefrontofthegarage,whileGeorgeWilsonrockedhimselfbackandforthonthecouchinside.Forawhilethedooroftheofficewasopen,andeveryonewhocameintothegarageglancedirresistiblythroughit.Finallysomeonesaiditwasashame,andclosedthedoor.Michaelisandseveralothermenwerewithhimfirst,fourorfivemen,latertwoorthreemen.StilllaterMichaelishadtoaskthelaststrangertowaittherefifteenminuteslonger,whilehewentbacktohisownplaceandmadeapotofcoffee.Afterthat,hestayedtherealonewithWilsonuntildawn. Aboutthreeo’clockthequalityofWilson’sincoherentmutteringchanged—hegrewquieterandbegantotalkabouttheyellowcar.Heannouncedthathehadawayoffindingoutwhomtheyellowcarbelongedto,andthenheblurtedoutthatacoupleofmonthsagohiswifehadcomefromthecitywithherfacebruisedandhernoseswollen. Butwhenheheardhimselfsaythis,heflinchedandbegantocry“Oh,myGod!”againinhisgroaningvoice.Michaelismadeaclumsyattempttodistracthim. “Howlonghaveyoubeenmarried,George?Comeonthere,tryandsitstillaminute,andanswermyquestion.Howlonghaveyoubeenmarried?” “Twelveyears.” “Everhadanychildren?Comeon,George,sitstill—Iaskedyouaquestion.Didyoueverhaveanychildren?” Thehardbrownbeetleskeptthuddingagainstthedulllight,andwheneverMichaelisheardacargotearingalongtheroadoutsideitsoundedtohimlikethecarthathadn’tstoppedafewhoursbefore.Hedidn’tliketogointothegarage,becausetheworkbenchwasstainedwherethebodyhadbeenlying,sohemoveduncomfortablyaroundtheoffice—hekneweveryobjectinitbeforemorning—andfromtimetotimesatdownbesideWilsontryingtokeephimmorequiet. “Haveyougotachurchyougotosometimes,George?Maybeevenifyouhaven’tbeenthereforalongtime?MaybeIcouldcallupthechurchandgetapriesttocomeoverandhecouldtalktoyou,see?” “Don’tbelongtoany.” “Yououghttohaveachurch,George,fortimeslikethis.Youmusthavegonetochurchonce.Didn’tyougetmarriedinachurch?Listen,George,listentome.Didn’tyougetmarriedinachurch?” “Thatwasalongtimeago.” Theeffortofansweringbroketherhythmofhisrocking—foramomenthewassilent.Thenthesamehalf-knowing,half-bewilderedlookcamebackintohisfadedeyes. “Lookinthedrawerthere,”hesaid,pointingatthedesk. “Whichdrawer?” “Thatdrawer—thatone.” Michaelisopenedthedrawernearesthishand.Therewasnothinginitbutasmall,expensivedog-leash,madeofleatherandbraidedsilver.Itwasapparentlynew. “This?”heinquired,holdingitup. Wilsonstaredandnodded. “Ifoundityesterdayafternoon.Shetriedtotellmeaboutit,butIknewitwassomethingfunny.” “Youmeanyourwifeboughtit?” “Shehaditwrappedintissuepaperonherbureau.” Michaelisdidn’tseeanythingoddinthat,andhegaveWilsonadozenreasonswhyhiswifemighthaveboughtthedog-leash.ButconceivablyWilsonhadheardsomeofthesesameexplanationsbefore,fromMyrtle,becausehebegansaying“Oh,myGod!”againinawhisper—hiscomforterleftseveralexplanationsintheair. “Thenhekilledher,”saidWilson.Hismouthdroppedopensuddenly. “Whodid?” “Ihaveawayoffindingout.” “You’remorbid,George,”saidhisfriend.“Thishasbeenastraintoyouandyoudon’tknowwhatyou’resaying.You’dbettertryandsitquiettillmorning.” “Hemurderedher.” “Itwasanaccident,George.” Wilsonshookhishead.Hiseyesnarrowedandhismouthwidenedslightlywiththeghostofasuperior“Hm!” “Iknow,”hesaiddefinitely.“I’moneofthesetrustingfellasandIdon’tthinkanyharmtonobody,butwhenIgettoknowathingIknowit.Itwasthemaninthatcar.Sheranouttospeaktohimandhewouldn’tstop.” Michaelishadseenthistoo,butithadn’toccurredtohimthattherewasanyspecialsignificanceinit.HebelievedthatMrs.Wilsonhadbeenrunningawayfromherhusband,ratherthantryingtostopanyparticularcar. “Howcouldsheofbeenlikethat?” “She’sadeepone,”saidWilson,asifthatansweredthequestion.“Ah-h-h—” Hebegantorockagain,andMichaelisstoodtwistingtheleashinhishand. “MaybeyougotsomefriendthatIcouldtelephonefor,George?” Thiswasaforlornhope—hewasalmostsurethatWilsonhadnofriend:therewasnotenoughofhimforhis