don't know," she said dubiously, "I don't know. Luckily my sister was in the kitchen giving one of the kids a bath, when I hollered out your name that time. I could have bitten my tongue off a minute later. But it popped out before I could stop it."
Her sister's flat, then. Her married sister's flat. She was visiting it from one hour and ten minutes away--in some one of one hundred and eighty approximate directions.
"She couldn't leave the kid even to watch the fire. But when I came back upstairs again later she said, 'Didn't I hear you holler out Dan a little while ago?' and gave me kind of a suspicious squint. I laughed and covered it up the best way I could. I told her that I hollered "Scram!" to some kids that was teasing a dog.'"
She waited a minute, then added apprehensively, "I only hope she believed me."
The conversation showed signs of lagging. She stirred a little. "It must be getting late. I don't want to miss my train in the morning."
He stretched his arm up overhead, along the wall behind them, turned the key on the gas jet. Nothing was left but that ghost window thrown upward from the street. Just that, and the murmur of their two voices, even lower now than before. Her mention of the train was the opening he'd been hoping and waiting for all along, the opening for that second question, held carefully in reserve until now.
"What track does it leave on?" he asked, as casually as he could.
He got a rebuke on it again, but he also got what he was after. "You ought to know, you took enough of those trains yourself. They all leave from the same track. Seventeen, lower level."
To get the answer to any given equation, you need at least two of its component parts. He had them both now. One hour and ten minutes away. Track seventeen, lower level, six A. M. That would give the name of the place.
She had put tracks and trains out of her mind now. Out of both their minds.
"You kiss me like you were thinking of something else."
Well as a matter of fact, he had kissed her from one hour and ten minutes away. He brought his thoughts back, kissed her again. "What's the matter with that one?"
"The mere fact that you've got to give out a testimonial with it."
He was wondering how he could find out her name. In almost every phrase he addressed to her, there was an awkward letdown at the end, where her name should have rounded it out. The tongue expected it. The ear expected it, too.
He rigged up a little trap, to see if he could snare it out of her. It was one of those questions that blended in perfectly with the circumstances of the moment. His voice was low, beside her ear. "If you could change your name, what would you rather have it be?"
It got him a name--his own, not hers. "That's a pushover, Mrs. Daniel Nearing."
He said it over to himself. Dan Nearing. Another key to the past.
He took a chance, suggested: "That would make it longer than it is now." Nearing was a fairly short name.
She had to figure it aloud, as he'd hoped she would. "Only one letter. Let's see. D-i-l-l-o-n, six. N-e-a-r-i-n-g, seven." Then with a little burst of petulance, "Say. what is this anyway, a spelling bee in the dark?"
"I was just talking," he tried to pacify her. "You know how it is--it's been a long time since we talked together. I like to talk to you."
"Sure, talking's all right," she agreed sulkily, "but there are other things besides conversation."
He didn't say anything more for a while. "How's this, for not conversing?" he asked her presently.
"For my part, you should never say another word."
In the morning he found his arm curved around nothing, giving emptiness a hug where she had been. But she'd be back again, the note said so.
-Danny Darling, I had to make that six o'clock, and I didn't have the heart to wake you. Until next Thursday, and please be careful in the meantime-.
-RUTH-
Her name was Ruth
Her sister's flat, then. Her married sister's flat. She was visiting it from one hour and ten minutes away--in some one of one hundred and eighty approximate directions.
"She couldn't leave the kid even to watch the fire. But when I came back upstairs again later she said, 'Didn't I hear you holler out Dan a little while ago?' and gave me kind of a suspicious squint. I laughed and covered it up the best way I could. I told her that I hollered "Scram!" to some kids that was teasing a dog.'"
She waited a minute, then added apprehensively, "I only hope she believed me."
The conversation showed signs of lagging. She stirred a little. "It must be getting late. I don't want to miss my train in the morning."
He stretched his arm up overhead, along the wall behind them, turned the key on the gas jet. Nothing was left but that ghost window thrown upward from the street. Just that, and the murmur of their two voices, even lower now than before. Her mention of the train was the opening he'd been hoping and waiting for all along, the opening for that second question, held carefully in reserve until now.
"What track does it leave on?" he asked, as casually as he could.
He got a rebuke on it again, but he also got what he was after. "You ought to know, you took enough of those trains yourself. They all leave from the same track. Seventeen, lower level."
To get the answer to any given equation, you need at least two of its component parts. He had them both now. One hour and ten minutes away. Track seventeen, lower level, six A. M. That would give the name of the place.
She had put tracks and trains out of her mind now. Out of both their minds.
"You kiss me like you were thinking of something else."
Well as a matter of fact, he had kissed her from one hour and ten minutes away. He brought his thoughts back, kissed her again. "What's the matter with that one?"
"The mere fact that you've got to give out a testimonial with it."
He was wondering how he could find out her name. In almost every phrase he addressed to her, there was an awkward letdown at the end, where her name should have rounded it out. The tongue expected it. The ear expected it, too.
He rigged up a little trap, to see if he could snare it out of her. It was one of those questions that blended in perfectly with the circumstances of the moment. His voice was low, beside her ear. "If you could change your name, what would you rather have it be?"
It got him a name--his own, not hers. "That's a pushover, Mrs. Daniel Nearing."
He said it over to himself. Dan Nearing. Another key to the past.
He took a chance, suggested: "That would make it longer than it is now." Nearing was a fairly short name.
She had to figure it aloud, as he'd hoped she would. "Only one letter. Let's see. D-i-l-l-o-n, six. N-e-a-r-i-n-g, seven." Then with a little burst of petulance, "Say. what is this anyway, a spelling bee in the dark?"
"I was just talking," he tried to pacify her. "You know how it is--it's been a long time since we talked together. I like to talk to you."
"Sure, talking's all right," she agreed sulkily, "but there are other things besides conversation."
He didn't say anything more for a while. "How's this, for not conversing?" he asked her presently.
"For my part, you should never say another word."
In the morning he found his arm curved around nothing, giving emptiness a hug where she had been. But she'd be back again, the note said so.
-Danny Darling, I had to make that six o'clock, and I didn't have the heart to wake you. Until next Thursday, and please be careful in the meantime-.
-RUTH-
Her name was Ruth
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