Conjure Wife by Fritz Leiber Page B

implications if interpreted in the light of his old irrational fear.
    It really didn’t sound so much like a dog. Probably the neighbor’s boy dragging home by jerks some indeterminate bulky object. The neighbor’s boy devoted all his spare time to collecting trash.
    “Totem! Totem!” Followed by, “All right, stay out if you want to,” and the sound of the back door closing.
    Finally, that very trite “sense of a presence” just behind him. Taller than himself, hands poised to grab. Only whenever he looked over his shoulder, it dodged. Something resembling it had figured in the dream — the source, perhaps, of that flat voice. And in that case —
    His patience snapped. Arm intellectual exercise all right! For morons! He stubbed out his cigarette.
    “Well, I’ve done my duty. That cat can sing for his supper.” Tansy sat on the arm of the chair and put her hand on Norman’s shoulder. “How are things going?”
    “Not so good,” he replied lightly.
    “The chairmanship?”
    He nodded. “Sawtelle got it.”
    Tansy cursed fluently. It did him good to hear her.
    “Make you want to take up conjuring again?” He bit his lip. He certainly hadn’t intended to say that.
    She looked at him closely.
    “What do you mean by that?” she asked.
    “Just a joke.”
    “Are you sure? I know you’ve been worrying about me these last few days, ever since you found out. Wondering if I were going totally neurotic on you, and watching for the next symptoms. Now, dear, you don’t have to deny it. It was the natural thing. I expected you’d be suspicious of me for a while.
    With your knowledge of psychiatry, it would be impossible for you to believe that anyone could shake off an obsession so quickly. And I’ve been so happy to get free from all that, that your suspicions haven’t bothered me. I’ve known they would wear off.”
    “But, darling, I honestly haven’t been suspicious,” he protested. “Maybe I ought to have been, but I haven’t.”
    Her gray-green eyes were sphinxlike. She said slowly, “Then what are you worrying about?”
    “Nothing at all,” Here was where he had to be very careful.
    She shook her head. “That’s not true. You are worrying. Oh, I know there are some things on your mind that you haven’t told me about. It isn’t that.”
    He looked up quickly.
    She nodded. “About the chairmanship. And about some student who’s been threatening you. And about that Van Nice girl. You didn’t really think, did you, that Hempnell would let me miss those delightful scandals?” She smiled briefly as he started to protest. “Oh, I know you aren’t the type who seduces love-struck mimeograph operators, not neurotic ones at any rate.” She became serious again. “Those are all minor matters, things you can take in your stride. You didn’t tell me about them because you were afraid I might backslide, from the desire to protect you. Isn’t that right?”
    “Yes.”
    “But I have the feeling that what you’re worrying about goes much deeper than that. Yesterday and today I’ve even felt that you wanted to turn to me for help, and didn’t dare.”
    He paused, as if thinking exactly how to phrase his answer. But he was studying her face, trying to read the exact meaning of each familiar quirk of expression around the mouth and eyes. She looked very contained, but that was only a mask, he thought. Actually, in spite of everything she said, she must still be poised close to the brink of her obsession. One little push, such as a few careless words on his part — How the devil had he ever let himself get so enmeshed in his own worries and those ridiculous projections of his cranky imagination? Here a few inches away from him was the only thing that mattered — the mind behind this smooth forehead and these clear, gray-green eyes; to steer that mind away from any such ridiculous notions as those he had been indulging in, the last few days.
    “To tell the truth,” he said, “I have been