He kissed her cheek, gave her his raincoat and hat.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t get away to come over. Is he in?”
“He’s in,” Guta said. “There’s somebody with him. He should be leaving soon, they’ve been talking a long time. Go on, Dick.”
He took several steps down the hall and stopped in the door to the living room. An old man was sitting at the table. A moulage. Motionless and listing slightly. The pink light from the lampshade fell on his broad dark face, his sunken, toothless mouth, and his still, lusterless eyes. And Noonan smelled it immediately. He knew that it was just his imagination, that the odor lasted only the first few days and then disappeared completely, but Richard Noonan smelled it with his memory—the fetid heavy smell of turned-up earth.
“We could go to the kitchen,” Guta said quickly. “I’m cooking there and we could chat.”
“Yes, of course!” he said cheerily. “It’s been such a long time! You haven’t forgotten that I like a drink before dinner, I hope?”
They went to the kitchen. Guta opened the refrigerator and Noonan sat at the table and looked around. As usual, it was clean and shiny and steam was rising from the pots and pans on the stove. The oven was new, semiautomatic. That meant they had money.
“Well, how is he?” Noonan asked.
“The same. He lost weight in prison, but I’m fattening him up.”
“His hair still red?”
“You bet!”
“Hot-tempered?”
“What else! He’ll be that way to the grave.”
Guta gave him a Bloody Mary. The clear layer of Russian vodka seemed to float on the layer of tomato juice.
“Too much?”
“Just right.” Noonan poured the drink down. He realized that that was his first real drink all day. “Now that’s better.”
“Is everything all right with you?” Guta asked. “Why haven’t you dropped by for such a long time?”
“Damn business. Every week I intended to come over or at least call, but first I had to go to Rexopolis, then there was a big to-do, and then I heard that Redrick was back and I thought I’d let you two have some time to yourselves. I’m really hassled, Guta. Sometimes I ask myself, what the hell are we all running around for, anyway? To make money? But what the hell do we need money if all we do is run around making it?”
Guta clattered the pot covers, took a pack of cigarettes from the shelf, and sat at the table across from Noonan. Her eyes were lowered. Noonan pulled out his lighter and lit her cigarette. And again, for the second time in his life, he saw her hands trembling, like the time when Redrick had just been sentenced and Noonan came over to give her some money—she was in a lot of trouble at first with no money at all, and no one in the building would lend her any. Then there was suddenly money in the house, and quite a bit of it, judging by everything, and Noonan had a good guess as to its source, but he continued coming over, bringing Monkey candy and toys, spending whole evenings over coffee with Guta, planning a new, happy life for Redrick. And then, having heard her stories, he would go to the neighbors and try to reason with them, explaining, coaxing, and finally, at the end of his patience, threatening them: “You know Red will be coming back, and he’ll break you all in half.” But nothing helped.
“How’s your girlfriend?” Guta asked.
“What girlfriend?”
“The one you came over with that time, the blonde.”
“That’s no girlfriend! That was my secretary. She got married and quit.”
“You ought to get married, Dick. You want me to find a girl for you?”
Noonan was about to give the standard reply: “Well, I’m just waiting for Monkey to grow up.” But he stopped himself. It just wouldn’t have come off any more.
“I need a secretary, not a wife,” he bumbled. “Why don’t you leave your red devil and come be my secretary. You used to be an excellent one. Old Harris still reminisces about you.”
“I’ll bet. My hand was always black and blue from beating him off.”
“Oh, so it was like that?” Noonan tried to look surprised. “That Harris!”
“God!” Guta said. “I could never get past him. My only worry was that Red would find out.”
Monkey walked in silently, hovering near the door. She looked at the pots, at Richard, then came up to her mother and leaned against her, averting her face.
“Well, Monkey,” Richard Noonan said heartily. “Like some chocolate?”
He took a chocolate bar out of his vest pocket and extended the plastic-wrapped package to the girl. She did not stir. Guta took the chocolate from him and put it on the table. Her lips were white. “Well, Guta, you know I’ve decided to move.” He spoke on in a hearty tone. “I’m tired of hotel living. And it’s too far from the institute.”
“She understands less and less—almost nothing any more,” Guta said softly. He stopped talking, picked up the glass with both hands, and absently twirled it.
“You’re not asking how we’re doing,” she continued. “And you’re right. Except that you’re an old friend, Dick, and we have no secrets from you. And there’s no way to keep it a secret anyway.”
“Have you seen a doctor?” he asked without looking up.
“Yes. They can’t do a thing. And one of them said…” She stopped talking.
He was silent too. There was nothing to say about it and he didn’t want to think about it either. Suddenly he had a horrible thought: it was an invasion. Not a roadside picnic, not a prelude to contact. It was an invasion. They can’t change us, so they get into the bodies of our children and change them in their own image. He felt a chill, but then he remembered that he had read something like that in a paperback with a lurid cover, and he felt better. You can imagine anything at all. And real life is never what you imagine.
“And one of them said that she’s no longer human.”
“Nonsense,” Noonan said hollowly. “You should go to a real specialist. Go see James Cutterfield. Do you want me to talk to him? I’ll arrange an appointment.”
“You mean the Butcher?” She laughed nervously. “Don’t bother. Thanks, Dick, but he’s the one who said so. I guess it’s fate.”
When Noonan dared to look up again, Monkey was gone and Guta was sitting motionless, her mouth half- open, her eyes empty, and a long gray ash on her cigarette. He pushed his glass over to her.
“Make me another, please, and one for yourself. We’ll have a drink.”
The ash fell and she looked around for a place for the butt. She threw it into the garbage can.
“Why? That’s what I can’t understand! We’re not the worst people in the city.”
Noonan thought that she was going to cry, but she didn’t. She opened the refrigerator, got the vodka and juice, and took another glass down from the cabinet.
“Don’t give up hope. There’s nothing in the world that can’t be fixed. And believe me, Guta, I have very important connections. I’ll do everything that I can.”
He believed what he was saying and he was mentally going over the list of his connections in various cities, and it seemed to him that he had heard about similar cases, and that they had seemed to have ended happily. He just had to remember where it was and who the physician was. But then he remembered Mr. Lemchen, and he remembered why he had befriended Guta, and then he didn’t want to think about anything at all. He scattered all his thoughts of connections, got comfortable in his chair, relaxed, and waited for his drink.
There were shuffling steps and a thumping in the hall and he could hear the more-than-ever repulsive voice of Buzzard Burbridge.
“Hey, Red! Looks like your Guta is entertaining someone. I see a hat. If I were you, I wouldn’t leave them alone.”
Red’s voice: “Watch your false leg, Buzzard. Shut your mouth. There’s the door, don’t forget to leave. It’s time for my dinner.”
“Damn it, can’t even make a little joke.”
“We’ve had all the jokes we’ll ever have. Period. Now get going!”
The lock clicked and the voices were quieter. Obviously they had gone out on the landing. Burbridge said something in an undertone, and Redrick replied: “That’s all, we’ve had our talk!” More grumbling from Burbridge and Redrick’s harsh: “I said that’s it!” The door slammed, there were loud fast steps in the hall, and Redrick Schuhart
