Charles Gray had not thought for a long time, consciously at least, about Clyde, Massachusetts, and he sometimes wondered later what caused him to do so one morning in mid-April, 1947. It was a mental accident that reminded him of certain passages on telepathy in
Man the Unknown
, the book by Alexis Carrel which everyone had been reading before the war. For a month Charles had read snatches of
Man the Unknown
each morning on the train, after finishing the headlines and the financial page of the
New York Times.
In fact he had done this while going through one of those self-improving phases that sometimes still overtook himâalthough he had begun to doubt, even before the war, that you could materially better your general cultural deficiencies by thirty minutes' reading every day. He would probably have done as well for himself by doing crossword puzzles or pondering on the financial difficulties of the New York, New Haven and Hartford, or by simply staring out of the window at Rye, Harrison and Mamaroneck. Still he had those hopeful moods occasionally. When he looked at the sets of Conrad and Kipling around the fireplace of the knotty pine library and at those newer books that Nancy kept buying and at the older ones of his father's that had come from Clyde, he could still feel that he, too, might become familiar with the world's great classics, provided he could get things sufficiently straightened out at home so that he could have a moment by himself without Nancy's coming in to take up some problem or without Bill's interrupting with his algebra. At least he had not yet lost his old desire to read, though Nancy said he had. He had read
Man the Unknown
all the way through, sometime around 1935, and now in 1947 he could still remember that it had something in it about telepathy.

In Charles's own experience when something was about to happen to you, particularly anything rather unpleasant, you always had a vague sort of a preview of what was coming. It was like those previews that flashed before you in the darkness of a motion picture theaterâ“
It's one way or the other, CliftonâTake it or leave itâDarling, I can't leave you, but I mustâDon't fail to see next week the struggle between love and duty.
” At any rate, he did not feel the way he should have felt that morning. When Nancy waked him up, he had a slight headacheânothing that would not pass, however, when he had some coffee.

“Are you awake now?” Nancy asked.

“Yes,” he answered, “naturally I'm awake. It's a terrible morning, isn't it?”

“If you'd only remember,” Nancy said, “not to take anything to drink after dinner. I've learned it long ago and I don't see why you can't.”

It always annoyed him when Nancy got on the subject of alcohol, because she invariably made it seem as though alcohol were a problem. She was always saying to people that she and Charles, when they were just quietly at home, enjoyed each other's company so much that they did not need a cocktailâwhich sounded well enough but was not strictly true, particularly when Nancy got started on the household bills.

“I hate sitting around with a lot of people,” he said, “just talking after dinner. I can't take four hours of steady conversation after I've been talking all day.”

“Now, darling,” Nancy said, “who was it who wanted to go to the Cliffords'?”

“All right,” Charles said, “who was it?”

“I told you,” Nancy said, “that we didn't have to go to the Cliffords'. They had us in January and we had them and everything was square and now we'll have to have them again.”

“Well, we don't have to have them right away,” Charles said. “Let's try not to think about it now. She's the one who gets me down. You know, when I see the whole picture I can't help feeling sorry for Bradley Clifford.”

“Everybody's always sorry for him,” Nancy said. “I wish you'd start feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I do,” Charles said, “right at this moment.”

“And I wish you'd feel sorry for me.”

“I do,” Charles said. “I do feel sorry for you and for everybody else who lives in this bedroom town and in fact for everyone else in the world. That's the way I feel at the moment.”

“Darling,” Nancy said, “don't be so broad-minded. You'll make me cry.”

“Is Bill awake?” Charles asked.

“Yes,” Nancy said. “He doesn't have your troubles.”

“He doesn't have to stay up all night,” Charles said. “Is he out of the bathroom?”

“Yes, dear,” Nancy said. “There's no excuse for you to lie there. You'd better get up or there'll be the usual morning marathon.”

“Is Evelyn up?” Charles asked.

“She's up and she's studying her geography,” Nancy said. “And besides, she doesn't use your bathroom.”

“All right,” Charles said. “All right.”

“And don't go to sleep again,” Nancy said. “I have to go down and cope with the coffee.”

“What?” Charles asked.

“You heard me,” Nancy said. “You're always better when you have your coffee. Now don't go to sleep again.”

“What's happened to Mary?” Charles asked.

“She went to spend the night with her sister in Harlem,” Nancy said. “She won't be back until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Are you sure she's coming back?” Charles asked.

“Oh, yes, she's coming back,” Nancy said. “She's left everything in her room.”

“All right,” Charles said. “All right. Is it raining?”

“Yes,” Nancy said. “It's raining hard, and the windshield wipers on the Buick hardly ever work.”

“Well, that makes it swell,” Charles said. “It's nice it's come to our attention.”

“I thought that might wake you up,” Nancy said. “You'd better wear your herringbone suit. It came back from the cleaners yesterday. I've put your ruptured duck on it.”

She was, of course, referring to the gold emblem which had been issued to ex-soldiers and sailors by a grateful government, but there was no reason why she had to call it by its GI name, as though she had been in the service, too. Also there was no reason why she should keep inserting it in his buttonhole. The emblem placed him in a youthful category to which he did not belong. He was not sure how well it looked at the bank, either.

“Never mind it,” Charles said. “I'm not running for any office.” He checked himself because he knew exactly what she would say before she said it.

“Oh, yes, you are,” she said, “and don't you keep forgetting it. You're right in there polishing apples.”

BOOK: Point of No Return

5.36Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

ads