Memoirs Of An Invisible Man (28 page)

Finally, a pudgy seventeen- or eighteen-year-old Hispanic boy arrived with the groceries. He wore black trousers that were too tight and an even tighter T-shirt with the word HARVARD lettered improbably across the front. Around his neck was a gold chain, from which several coins and a ring hung, crowning the name of our alma mater. He let the door swing shut behind him and stood there passively, cradling the bag of groceries in one arm. His gaze went directly toward the doorway in which I stood and through which he could hear the shower. He took another two steps forward, still staring through me at the half-open door of the bathroom.

“You can just leave everything in the living room,” I shouted. “The money’s on the table. Keep two dollars out of the change for yourself.”

He continued to gaze at the bathroom door for a long moment and then spoke.

“I can bring it into the kitchen for you.” His voice was not yet completely changed.

“Just leave it there,” I shouted, but, ignoring my command, he walked straight at me. Unable to think of anything I could do to stop him, I stepped into the living room to be well out of his way. He walked on through to the kitchen, but as he passed the bathroom door, his gait slowed and he peered in. The shower curtain was drawn and it was by now like a steam room in there, but his intrusive gawking made me nervous. He deposited the sack of groceries on the kitchen table and headed back out. This time he came to a stop in front of the bathroom door and stared straight in.

He wanted a look at me in my shower. I was repelled and angered.

“The groceries are on the kitchen table,” he said softly. He waited for my reply, but since I was now standing directly behind him, whereas he thought I was standing directly in front of him in the shower, I couldn’t very well give a reply. With the fingertips of his right hand he gently pushed the door open a few more inches and craned his neck for a better view of the bath.

“Is there anything else you want me to do?” he asked.

There is nothing so grotesque as the display of sexual wants which one does not share. I see it all the time. People peering, staring, glancing furtively at breasts, at genital bulges in clothing, at underwear, pictures, children, animals, at God knows what. They find little figures of lust hidden everywhere in the carpet.

The boy continued to stand there, peering into the steamy but vacant bathroom. I had to bring this to an end. Reaching carefully around him, I got hold of the doorknob and pulled the bathroom door abruptly shut. He was startled — perhaps by the wordless rebuff itself, perhaps by its slightly eerie quality: he had clearly pictured me as standing in the shower, but he would have to conclude now that I was standing six feet closer, concealed directly behind the suddenly closed door. He remained staring a moment longer and brushed one hand across his trousers.

The boy turned and went into the front room, where he found the money and counted out my change. Before letting himself out, he too studied the photographs. Perhaps I would feel better if I removed all personal photographs from the walls.

As soon as he was out of the apartment and I had the door locked again, I went straight back to the kitchen to unpack the groceries. It was not a particularly splendid shipment of provisions, but I found myself quite interested all the same. I had firmly resolved not to eat anything before evening, because, although I had no plans to go out or to have anyone else in the apartment, it seemed safest not to compromise my invisibility until after dark. You never know what might happen. I put the club soda and the tonic and the little package of fish in the refrigerator and then opened up the bouillon and gelatine packages and set them out on the table where I could take a good look at them. I think I told myself that I was planning the evening meal. I couldn’t remember when I had last had bouillon, but I must have had it sometime in my life, because the pathetic sight of the little cubes in their foil wrappers made my mouth water. I had not eaten anything for over two days now except last night’s meal of moo shu pork and coffee ice cream. To hell with it. I was starving. I heated up some water for bouillon. I decided to try the beef — it sounded somehow more substantial. Under the circumstances, it tasted exquisite.

I watched with less revulsion now the way in which the dishwater-colored liquid collected in my stomach. You can get used to almost anything. I could see that, although it was going to take longer than water, it was already starting to fade and dissipate. Once I’d gone this far I might as well try the others. I went back to the kitchen and made up a serving of the chicken bouillon. It too was delicious beyond imagining.

I was feeling better now, although I yearned for some solid food. Better not take a chance. If I could live on bouillon and vitamins, I would never be visible for more than fifteen or twenty minutes at a time. That reminded me that I ought to be taking the vitamins, and I opened the package and swallowed two of them, watching as the translucent amber capsules descended jerkily down to my stomach and sat there, slowly dissolving. Eventually a hole was eaten through one of them, and the contents gushed slowly out in a spreading stain. It was really quite fascinating. Too bad, in a way, that no one else could enjoy the spectacle.

I eagerly examined the gelatine, which turned out to be a powder packaged in little paper envelopes. I was still not quite sure what gelatine was and the labels gave me very little help, but there seemed to be protein in it, which I assumed to be a good thing, and research indicated that seven out of ten women reported an improvement in their fingernails, which was of rather less interest. I was invited to send for a free booklet detailing the facts on the restoration of brittle, splitting, breaking fingernails. Another free booklet on gelatine cookery offered recipes for Fabulous Foods that are Fun to Fix. I was half-inclined to go for that one, but the sample recipes for tomato aspic and chicken mousse disheartened me. “3 wonderful ways to freshen up your menus.” I made up another cup of bouillon and poured a packet of gelatine into it. If there was a difference, it tasted worse, but perhaps I was just beginning to get tired of bouillon. I got out the package of shining noodles and looked longingly at it. No. I had to make myself stop eating for now.

I went back to my desk and called the office again. Cathy answered.

“Mr. Halloway’s office.”

“Hi, Cathy. Thanks for dropping off all the stuff.”

“You’re welcome. How are you? What did the doctor say?”

“I’m fine. I just thought I ought to see a doctor after all… just in case, I mean. Sorry I wasn’t here. Did you have any trouble with the keys or anything?”

“No trouble at all. I just dumped everything on the table. What did the doctor say?”

“Just a virus. Listen, have there been any calls for me?”

“Simon Cantwell of Bennington Trust—”

“You can throw that out.” I would never have to waste my time giving him free advice again: that was one good thing.

“And a David Leary from the U.S. Industrial Research Safety Commission.” That would be it. A pulse of fear ran through me. “Sounded like some sort of government agency,” she went on.

“When did he call?”

“Twenty minutes ago. Two fifty-five.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. He wants to arrange an appointment, I think. I’ve got his number.”

“What exactly did he say? As close to word-for-word as you can get.”

“I don’t know. He asked to speak to you — that’s all. I told him you had stepped out of your office, and I asked for his name. He said he was David Leary of the U.S. Industrial Research Safety Commission, and he would like to arrange to meet with you for several minutes and was there some time this afternoon when he could come by and find you in. I said you were extremely busy and you would be in and out of the office this afternoon and out of town most of next week. If he would leave his number, you would get back to him as soon as you possibly could. He said it was very important that he see you and that it would only take a few minutes and he gave me a number. You want me to save it or throw it out?”

Throw it out. Pretend it doesn’t exist. Damn!

“Give it to me,” I said.

“594-3120.”

“Did he say anything else? Anything at all.”

“No.” Cathy sounded puzzled.

“How did he sound?”

“What do you mean? He sounded… Is this something serious?”

“No, no. It’s nothing. Just a nuisance. I just… There was a sort of fire at the place I visited Wednesday, and I just don’t want to get involved with some investigation… Endless questions, giving testimony that—”

“Hey, do you mean that big explosion that was on television? Where the demonstrators blew themselves up? Did you see that?”

“There really wasn’t that much to see. It was—”

“You mean it was that place — MicroMagnetics — that was blown up? That’s incredible! I saw it on TV! It was on the eleven o’clock news! I never put that together — they never said the name. That’s amazing! Did you actually see the people killed?”

“No. Or yes. I saw them from a distance.” (I could see them right now, pretty clearly, if I weren’t making an effort not to think about their faces melting.) “I was outside the building, pretty far away. I really couldn’t see that much.”

“Incredible. MicroMagnetics. To think that I talked to them just the day before, to make your appointment. Did you leave the building because you had a premonition?”

“No,” I said, a little irritated. “I left because they were evacuating the building… Actually I left a little before that, which is why I really didn’t see much of anything.” I would have to sit down and work out exactly what my story was. I should already have done that. “I just happened to leave — I wasn’t feeling well.”

“That’s incredible. That’s exactly like this very close friend of mine who one time was supposed to be flying on one of those little planes to Nantucket and at the last minute she just decided for no reason at all not to take it, just because she had this feeling about it, and the plane went down with no—”

“Yes, fate is forever playing little tricks on us, I find.” I looked at the telephone receiver floating in midair, and I felt sick. “If Leary calls again, tell him I’ll be calling him.”

“Anything else you want me to tell him?”

“No! Just take messages. Wait. Tell everyone I’ll be back later this afternoon. I’ll check back with you at the end of the day.”

“All right.” She sounded aggrieved.

“Cathy?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks again for bringing by all that stuff. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. I hope you’re feeling better. It must have been a terrible experience.”

Jesus.

“No, not worth thinking about. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

Well, they were after me. Of course, there had not for a moment been any doubt that they were after me. The telephone call from Leary, whoever he was, should really have been reassuring: it meant that they did not yet know just whom they were after. If they did know, they would not be calling my office: they would be at the door; they would be surrounding the building. At this point Nicholas Halloway was still just one name — probably a rather unpromising one — on a long list to be systematically checked out. But that call was demoralizing all the same. It was as if someone had fired a shot right through the walls of my would-be haven. The fact that I had been braced for the shot all day only made it worse.

It was a question of time now, of seeing how long I could stall them, keep my name at the bottom of their list. Perhaps, if I handled them skillfully enough over the phone, I could deflect them indefinitely, keep them from ever finding out that I was the one they were looking for. Anyway, the longer I could throw them off the better. I just had to keep creating the impression that everything was going along normally, that I was leading my life as usual. I would just be terribly busy, always going out of town suddenly and canceling my appointments. I would always have just left when people called. How long could I keep that up? Perhaps, if I handled it well, my colleagues, my friends, and the authorities would all gradually lose interest in me.

The first question was whether I could put off calling back Leary until Monday morning. There would be nothing out of the ordinary about that: it was Friday afternoon. Better to delay as much as possible at every stage. No. Better to deal with it head on. Fix a definite appointment right now. I couldn’t risk having these people arrive unannounced at my office. Or at the apartment. And anyway, the more responsive I was in my dealings with them, the less interested they should be. But I dreaded making the call.

First I should think it through, work out a detailed account of what I was supposed to have been doing for the last two days. That would be only prudent. I couldn’t afford to be at a loss for an answer. I sat there with pencil and paper, writing out a complete sequence of events with times and names. None of it would stand up terribly well under close inspection, but I was careful not to have myself talking to anyone or doing anything that could be conclusively refuted with a simple telephone call.

The papers! Cathy had brought me the newspapers. There might be valuable information in them, something I ought to know before talking to Leary. I went into the other room and searched through the
Journal,
but there was no mention anywhere of the events at MicroMagnetics. Extraordinary. I’ve always thought their news coverage was thin. Deep in the nether regions of the
Times
was an article entitled
LABORATORY
MAY
HAVE
VIOLATED
BUILDING
CODE
. By Anne Epstein.

The Mercer County District Attorney, who is investigating a fatal fire in a Lamberton, New Jersey, research laboratory yesterday, suggested today that the laboratory may have violated local building and fire ordinances… Two deaths… A fire department spokesman declined to speculate on whether such violations might have caused… A local official speculated that demonstrators might have damaged electrical lines… A spokesman for federal investigators refused to comment on reports that… Officials insisted that no radioactive material was located… Meanwhile, in an action considered unusual for an accident of this type, authorities have closed off…