When he was older, Henry understood his self-deception. Being bitten and getting the shots was bad, but his fear came from something else: Animals were irrational. You can’t argue with them. You could convince people, talk them out of a vicious intent.
Thinking of that now, Henry was embarrassed by his naïveté. Could he talk the people who ran Cliffhaven out of their vicious intent? Were human beings less vicious to each other than animals were? To believe that was to believe in the sin that led to all others. Human nature, the subject of so many heated discussions at his house, was the ultimate trap of the idealist. Man could be a pig. Or a vulture. Under duress, a hyena.
Henry listened carefully, for he suddenly thought he heard the sounds of more than two dogs. The old fear was with him, unshakable.
From the sounds, they were working their way up from the road with the dogs, planning to cut him off. But could they if he went the other way, toward Cliffhaven? Was that crazy? They would be looking for him down by the highway. Or on the way down, but not the way up. Did the dogs have his scent from some piece of clothing he had left behind?
He remembered the story of the prisoner at Sing Sing in the sixties who had escaped from his cell, and the search parties had combed all the adjacent towns uselessly because, as it turned out, so many frantic hours later, the man was still behind the walls, hiding in an outbuilding. Did he remember that now as a God-given clue to what he should do—get out of the woods where the dogs would eventually find him and get to where they wouldn’t look, the place he had escaped from? Or was he losing his mind, becoming his own captor?
The yapping sounded closer. He had no choice. Back up to Cliffhaven was where he had to go.
The branch-holding routine he had worked out for going down was much harder going up. The only hopeful sign was that the yelping faded. He was alone and moving faster in a direction they hadn’t expected him to go. Maybe the handlers thought the dogs were following the wrong scent, and were trying to reorient the dogs.
It seemed an eternity before he reached the perimeter of Cliffhaven, circled around in the end of the woods away from the resort buildings, until he came to the long, flat-roofed building set far apart from the others and so different in style. It was built of cinder blocks, not wood, and looked like some oversized utility building. It might have been a small factory except for the absence of windows anywhere.
He’d have to cross about seventy-five yards of open space to get to it. Would he be seen? It was dark, but he’d be silhouetted against the woods.
He couldn’t take a chance, and so, exhausted as he was, he crawled the entire distance, moving his arms like a duck as he had been taught in the army, dragging his body, keeping close to the ground. The knuckles of his right hand were bleeding from the small stones. It seemed not to matter. His body moved like an automaton.
Once against the building, he stood. It was good to stand. He edged around the building to the other side. Should he chance the one door? What if there were someone inside? Would there be any way to get inside a building without windows? There was no sign that the building was air-conditioned.
He tried the door. It was locked.
Henry listened for sounds within the building. Machinery? Nothing. He listened for the dogs and could not hear them.
He had not seen the fourth side of the building. Carefully he made his way around. Luck. A metal ladder going to the roof. Could anyone see him? He’d have to chance it.
He clambered up the ladder. The rungs were very narrow and hurt his feet He mustn’t fall. From the distance, he had not realized the building was nearly two stories high.
Swinging himself over onto the roof, he was glad to see there was a two-foot parapet all the way around. They could come up after him the same way. He tried to pull the metal ladder up. It was very heavy, and he couldn’t get any leverage, yet he managed to lift it off the ground, then hand over hand to pull it up a few inches at a time. It was too heavy. He had raised it perhaps a foot or two off the ground. He couldn’t hold it anymore.
It fell to the ground unevenly, tilted, and toppled over. He had lost his means of getting off the roof. Nothing seemed to matter anymore except the possibility of sleep.
He huddled against the parapet, holding his knees. His body hurt so.
What the hell. He didn’t have to fight sleep anymore. Stretching his hands under his cheek, he was almost instantly lost to the world.
14
The night was coming to an end when Margaret stretched her arms out for Henry.
He wasn’t there.
She woke abruptly, remembered she was alone behind a locked door.
If they found Henry, would they bring him here?
They might not even tell you if he were alive or dead.
If he had escaped onto the road, would he be able to find willing help? Could the wound in his head be worse than she thought it was? Had they flung his body into the woods?
When Margaret was thirteen she had imagined herself to be vulnerable to every ailment of mankind. But by the time she was fifteen, she believed that all of the serious ailments—including death, which she thought of as the ultimate ailment—were things
other people got.
By the time she had finished a year of medical school, she had a sensible view of her vulnerability; she could catch or get or be visited with any or many of life’s physical and mental catastrophes, but care, antisepsis, attention to diet, keeping one’s distance from friends with active colds could all contribute to health.
In contrast to Margaret’s rationality, the young men of her acquaintance thought of themselves as special vessels of the Almighty, impervious to harm, whether driving a car or off to war. They were fools. Two of them died in car crashes. Most of the others went off to the army, jocks in brain and body, unmindful of how vulnerable their fine physiques were to Asiatic fungus, malaria, disabling dysentery, concussion, and shrapnel, their heads reverberating with the song of youth,
It can’t happen to me.
Henry was not like them. He was not a jock, nor was he a whiner. He had been an optimist in all things except one.
They were in a rowboat in Central Park on a sunny Saturday in June when he announced to her, “I want to tell you something about my being Jewish.”
It all seemed so irrelevant to her. He didn’t indulge in any religious practices. He didn’t act different. He certainly didn’t look Jewish.
“Before we get involved any further,” he said, shipping the oars as if to avoid even the distraction of rowing because of the importance of the point, “you should know that to Jews anything can happen. Anything bad.”
She had tried to laugh it off, the idea of a perpetual sword of Damocles, but he was insistent. “Margaret, I love you.”
Of course she loved him, too. What was he getting at?
“Your involvement with me could lead you into the circle of danger.”
“Cheer up,” Margaret had said. “Hitler’s dead.”
“He was just a stage,” Henry said.
“It’s a lousy century,” Margaret said.
“The Middle Ages were pretty bad. For Jews, I mean, as well as others. Luther traded on it. Then the Russian pogroms. The Polish pogroms. You can find the emotions anywhere.”
“Here?” she had said.
“Anywhere.”
Had either of them, after that day on the lake, ever given it a second thought? She hadn’t.
There was no point in trying to get to sleep again. It was morning. Yet the temptation was to lie there because getting up meant knowing what you would do. She wanted to think.
Were some of Henry’s notions Jewish notions? When she was about to drive the car, he’d remind her, not always but on occasion, to turn off the ignition while she was getting gas. When Stanley was first sent away to summer camp, Henry prepared for him a written list of warnings:
1. Don’t go swimming without another boy swimming close to where you are.
2. Don’t go in the water unless a lifeguard is present.
3. Roughhouse with pillows okay, but no sticks, rocks, or anything else that can really hurt people.
4. In public toilets put paper on the seat before you sit down.
5. Cut meat into small pieces. People have choked to death on food.
6. Be polite to strangers, but never get into
a
stranger’s car under any circumstances.
7. Don’t wander
off.
Always let your counselor know where you are.
Anybody could pass those warnings on to a child, but actually drawing up a written list—was that Jewish? Had he ever warned Stanley out of her earshot about the hazards of being Jewish as he had her?
Stanley. They said they would phone him from Santa Barbara. Would he be alarmed if they didn’t call? Would Ruth be worried? She’d have no reason to. Not yet.
What of all the people who’ve been here for months? Didn’t anyone come looking for them? If they hadn’t announced their intentions to go to Cliffhaven, where would one look? There are bureaus of missing persons everywhere, aren’t there? Now that’s something Stanley would do, he’d pursue the matter. We were supposed to meet in L.A. Henry was to call him. Oh my God, she thought, if he comes looking for us and gets here, they’ll simply have one more prisoner. Is that what happens? Those who track their kin to Cliffhaven are also among the guests?
The distinct sound of a key in the lock startled her. Quickly, Margaret got out of bed and slipped into her robe just as the door swung open. It was that very tall young woman, dressed in the same uniform as Clete, who had been taken away by the two men in the dining room. Clete had gone after them. And that was when they seized the opportunity to escape. What did Clete say her name was, Charlotte?
She was carrying a tray. “Good morning,” she said as if nothing had happened.
“Is your name Charlotte?”
She nodded.
“You’re Clete’s friend.”
Charlotte set the breakfast tray down. “Sometimes,” she said.
“You took his car to San Diego.”
“I didn’t get very far.”
“They came after you, like they came after us.”
“You better eat this stuff before it gets cold, Dr. Brown.”
“You’re a prisoner just like we are.”
“That’s not true.” Charlotte was trying to control her anger. “It’s just that they have rules. They’re letting me make up for being AWOL.”
“How?”
“I don’t have to answer you.”
“How?”
“By being in charge of you, dear,” Charlotte said. “Now eat.”
Margaret looked at the tray. On it was a very large glass of orange juice, a small beaker of coffee, toast, marmalade, a glass of milk, and a covered dish in the center. A feast before dying? Charlotte lifted the cover to reveal scrambled eggs and bacon.
Margaret had not thought of food; now, reacting like Pavlov’s dog, she was suddenly, instantly hungry.
Why was she not eating in the dining room?
Out loud she said, “Why am I not eating in the dining room?”
“You won’t be doing that until your husband is found,” Charlotte said.
Thank heaven. They’re still looking for him. Maybe Henry got away!
“You better eat before this stuff gets cold,” Charlotte said.
“I’d like to wash up first.” Margaret wanted to change. She didn’t like eating in her nightgown.
“You’ll wash later,” Charlotte said. “I brought the food hot. You eat it hot.”
Eating with Charlotte looking on made her feel more like a prisoner than anything else that had happened so far. After a few mouthfuls she no longer felt hunger. Her body was warning her; if she ate more she’d get sick.
“You’d better finish,” Charlotte said. “We don’t know when you’ll eat next.”
There must be stuff in the food to tranquilize me,
Margaret thought.
“I’ll throw up if I eat more,” Margaret said. “I really can’t. I need some air. Can you take me outside? Can we take a walk?”
“You’re not walking away again. The only thing I’m allowed to do is leave you in the rec room. Locked.”
“What’s in the rec room?”
“Basketball. Volleyball.”
“Who do I play with?” Margaret asked. The idea of socializing with Charlotte was repugnant to her.
“You play with yourself,” Charlotte said, laughing. “I mean by yourself. I got work to do. I’m taking you to the rec room. Get dressed.”
Anything but this room, Margaret thought. “All right,” she said, “I’ll go to the rec room.”
“Say please.”
Margaret looked at the tall young woman.
Think of it as a game
, she told herself
“Please,” Margaret said.
“Okay.”
*
On the short walk to the rec room, Charlotte and
Margaret encountered Carol.
“That the escapee’s wife?” Carol asked.
Charlotte nodded.
“I’m taking her to the rec room.”
“I just put my infraction in there.”
“Terrific,” Charlotte said. “They can play with each other.”
Girls’ jokes,
thought Margaret,
are like boys’ jokes.
She wondered who the other resident was.