(2 page)

“
Who,
darling?” She asked as if she had only half-listened to me.

I
repeated the description. “And a pointed chin,” I added.
“Has he been around here recently asking for me?”

“
No.
Asking what? Who is he?”

I
made myself grin. “That's my mystery. It's not an
eighteen-carat one like yours, but it's the best I can manage without
more notice.”

“
What
mystery. Papa?” Carol demanded wide-eyed. “Is it a
mystery about the man you said has a crooked

nose?”

“
I
was only fooling,” I said. “Eat your stew.”

That
was one meal where neither Esther nor I tried to shut off Carol's
inexhaustible flow of talk so that we

could
get a word in edgewise. I grunted yes or no as her monologue demanded
and every now and then I looked as Esther. She wasn't eating. She
wasn't doing much of anything except sitting.

Carol's
bedtime was at seven-thirty, but I used the box of candy to bribe her
to let me take her upstairs twenty minutes earlier. Putting her to
bed was my job; I wouldn't have traded it for anything else I could
think of. I carried her piggy-back up to her room, dumped her on the
bed where she rolled squealing with laughter, tucked her in, lay down
beside her with a book. That was the routine, ending up with reading
a chapter.

The
story was about two little girls whose names were Alice and Mary and
who had been visiting their grandmother's farm for twenty-three
chapters. Tonight's chapter, the twenty-fourth, seemed as long as all
the others combined.

“
Don't
read so fast,” Carol protested.

I
forced myself to go slower.

“
Papa,
do you want to hear a secret.?”

Carol
said suddenly.

“
If
you think you ought to tell it.”

Her
arms went around my neck. I felt her breath in my ear and one of her
braids on my upturned cheek. “Mommy was crying.”

I
turned my face and body to her. When?”

“
When
I came home from school. She was sitting in the kitchen crying. She

wouldn't
tell me why.”

“
Probably
because of her headache,” I said.

“
I
hope it gets better.”

“
Yes,”
I said. I turned back to the book and continued reading. Something
had happened

to
my voice. I had to keep clearing my throat.

CHAPTER
TWO

Esther
sat on the living room couch with her legs tucked under her. She
looked dainty and sweet and girlish sitting like that with her braids
hanging over her shoulders and her hair behind her ears and that cute
gingham dress not covering her knees.

I
dropped down beside her. “Carol's asleep. Now what?”

“
I'm
sorry, darling, for acting so mysteriously.”

She
leaned toward me and I put an arm about her. “I couldn't let.
Carol hear. She'd have nightmares.”

“
That
bad.?” I said. “I've been thinking, baby. You ran over
somebody with the car, didn't you ? And the man with the crooked nose
is an insurance investigator.”

“
Who?”

“
I
mentioned him at the table. At around six tonight he came to the
showroom while I wasn't there sand asked Mr. Redfern questions about
me.”

“
But,
darling, I didn't have an accident. I only saw it. What interest
could an insurance investigator have in you? I was the witness.”

I
chuckled with relief. “So that's all it was — you merely
witnessed an accident.” I smiled at her.

“
It
was worse than that,” Esther said against my chest. “After
lunch I took the car out to visit Emily. On Fort Hamilton Parkway I
stopped for a red light. Just as the light changed a man crossed in
front of my car. I remember that he was carrying a bag and moving
rather slowly and I waited for him to pass. I was just about to
release the clutch when I heard a scream and brakes squealed and I
looked sideways and there was the man flying right at me. He actually
seemed to be in the air, flying straight at my window.”

“
Easy,
baby,” I said, holding her.

She
lowered her voice. “What happened was that a car going the
opposite direction had started as soon as the red light went off, and
the man who was crossing the street wasn't looking. That car struck
him and flung him back the way he had come. He landed on his head at
the side of my car. I could actually hear his head hit the road. I
sat there watching him get slowly to his feet. He reached for the
handle of the door at my side and pulled himself up. Then his face
was right on the other side of the door window. It was horrible.”

“
You
poor kid. Bloody?”

“
He
didn't seem to be hurt, but his face was — well, its color was
enough to turn my stomach. He stood looking at me and holding onto
the door handle. Maybe I said something to him; I don't remember. I
don't remember a crowd gathering, but suddenly people were all around
my car and the other one that had hit him and traffic was tied up.
Then I saw another man standing beside the man who had been hit. He
was pale and trembling; he said he was the driver of the car. He
asked the other man if he was hurt. The man who had been hit frowned
and said: 'I'm okay.' He said that over and over, 'I'm okay,' and I
sat behind the wheel and didn't know what to do. He started to turn
away from the car and almost fell and grabbed the door again. He
looked at me again and said: 'Mind driving me' home, lady? I guess
I'm groggy.' I said I would and opened the back door.

“
He
stumbled when he tried to get in, and several men helped him. Then
somebody in the crowd said: 'His head is bleeding.' I turned and he
was sitting with his head against the back of the seat and his eyes
were closed. I didn't see blood. I never did. I said: 'Where do you
live.?' I asked him twice before he answered. He said: 'Near here.
Let's see — ' He was thinking about it, trying to remember.
Suddenly the police were there. I saw three or four of them pushing
the crowd back and then one of them opened the back door of the car
and stuck his head in. He said: 'Are you the man that was hit?' The
man opened his eyes and stared at the policeman in the oddest way.”

“
The
oddest way?” I said.

“
His
eyes seemed to stand out of his head. I have no idea what he looked
like, really, but I remember thinking that his eyes would fall out of
their sockets if he kept staring at the policeman that way. Then he
said: 'I'm okay. This lady is driving me home.' The policeman said:
'Like hell you're okay. The back

of
your head — ' He glanced at me and didn't finish. I turned in
my seat and I still couldn't see the back of the injured man's head.
He said: 'Damn it, I'm okay. I ought to know I'm okay.' Okay —
that was the word he used over and over, as if trying to talk himself
into it.

“
The
policeman was half in the car and half out. He spoke very gently. He
said: 'You better wait for an ambulance, mister.' The man became
wild. He said: 'Damn it, I don't need a copper to tell me what to
do!' That's what he called the policeman — copper, just like in
the movies. The policeman stepped away from the car and spoke to
another policeman. He came back and told me that as long as the
injured man was in the car already, it would be quicker and better
for him if I drove him to the hospital. I said I would be glad to,
and the policeman got into the back seat. The injured man had stopped
protesting. His eyes were closed again. He sat so very still.”

“
What
about his bag?”

“
Oh,
yes. One of the other policemen came to the car with the bag and
asked if it was the injured man's. The injured man opened. His eyes
and said: 'Bag?' He saw the second policeman push it into the car,
and he said: 'God, yes, the bag.' Then he started to laugh in a way
that made me cold all over. He said: 'Can you imagine that, I forgot
the, bag?' And suddenly he stopped laughing and put his head back.
The policeman outside slammed the door and I started the car.”

“
And
at the hospital he again forgot the bag?” I said.

“
He
didn't forget. You see — ' “ She started to shake in my
arms. “They were so quiet in the back seat, the injured man and
the policeman. I think I'd driven about five or six blocks when I
heard the policeman say: 'Holy God!' I was driving very slowly. I
looked around. The policeman was holding the injured man in his arms.
He said to me: 'I think he's dead.' Without warning, without a sound,
nothing at all — he was dead.”

“
Concussion
of the brain,” I said. “Sometimes it happens like that.
They think they're all right, but they're practically dead already.”

“
Yes,
I'd had quite a shock when I'd seen him hit, but it had started to
wear off. Now it came back, only worse. I don't know how I drove to
the hospital, but it was only a few blocks farther and there I was
behind the wheel and I suppose it was easier driving, doing
something, than not driving. At the hospital

they
carried him out of the car. I didn't look. The policeman told me to
wait. I sat there in the car and then the policeman came out and took
my name and address and told me I could go home.”

“
And
the bag remained in the car.”

“
The
policeman should have thought of it,” she said. “But he
went into the hospital with the men who carried the dead man out, and
when he came back he spoke to me through the car window and didn't
see the bag again. In the confusion and excitement it must have
slipped his mind. As for me, I couldn't think about the bag or
anything. I was numb. I hardly remember driving home. When I was in
the house, I went to pieces.”

“
Carol
told me she saw you cry.”

“
Yes.
That made me feel better.”

Esther
turned her face up to me with a wan smile. “You know I'm not
the hysterical type, darling, but it was so intensely personal, the
man dying in my car like that.”

“
I
know, baby.”

She
pressed her face against my chest.

“
What
about that poor man's bag?”

“
I'll
drive it over to the police station in a little while.”

Next
door Mrs. Gillette shouted to her boy Allen that it was his bedtime,
and from across the street Allen shouted back that it was early. Down
the block a horn honked impatiently. Spiked heels clicked nervously
past the house and two young women giggled. Somewhere in the street a
motor coughed and sputtered and refused to catch. These were the
usual pre-twilight sounds which meant home. I felt fine. A man had
died in the car with Esther and had spoiled her afternoon and my
supper, but he was nobody to us and men were always dying and by
tomorrow he would be only somebody to recall when discussing curious
experiences. I felt fine because I was home with my wife in my arms
and my daughter asleep upstairs in her bed.

The
phone rang. I unwrapped myself from Esther and went out to the hall
to answer it.

“
I'd
like to speak to Mrs. Breen,” a man said over the wire.

“
Who's
this?”

“
Are
you Mr. Breen?'

“
Yes.”

“
I'm
Raymond Teacher's brother.”

His
voice was an agonizing drawl. He treated each word as if it were a
sentence by itself.

“
Raymond
Teacher?” I said.

“
He
was killed in an accident this afternoon. I understand that your wife
was involved.”

“
She
wasn't involved,” I said. “She merely drove him to the
hospital.”

“
That's
what I meant. I'd like to speak to her, please.”

Esther
had come out into the hall.

'“About
the accident?” she asked. “Is it the police?”

“
The
dead man's brother.” I handed her the phone.

Esther
said into the mouthpiece: “Hello, this is Mrs. Breen . . . .
Why, yes, the bag is still in the car. My husband found it a short
while ago. , . . No, we haven't touched it. . . . It's still in the
car. My husband was going to take it over to the police station. . .
. Naturally you can have it. We'll be home all evening.... Yes,
that's the right address . . . . You're welcome, I'm sure.”

She
hung up. “He's coming for the bag this evening,” she told
me.

I
had a match up to my cigarette. I shook it out. “I wonder if we
ought to give the bag to anybody else but the police.”

“
Why
not, if he's the poor man's brother? Besides, it will save you a
trip.”

“
I
guess so.”

Carol
said: “Mommy, who were you talking to on the phone?”

She
was standing at the head of the stairs in her pajamas. She yawned and
scratched her thigh.

Esther
sighed and went up to her. We worked in shifts putting Carol to bed.
Generally it required three or four journeys upstairs before she was
settled for the night.

I
went into the living room and dropped the match into an ashtray and
looked out of a front window. Arthur Gillette was trying to restore
luster to his weather-worn Chevy with a can of wax and at the same
time arguing with his son Allen to go in to bed. A man leaned against
the telephone pole in front of my house and watched Gillette and the
boy as if he had never before seen a father having trouble getting
his