I sat there for fifteen minutes before ambling back to the house. I sat down on the living-room sofa and continued reading my
At two o’clock, the Sheep Man came.
The Sheep Man Cometh
As the clock struck two, there came a knocking on the door. Two times at first, a two-breath pause, then three times.
It took me a while to recognize it as knocking. That anyone should knock on the door hadn’t occurred to me. The Rat wouldn’t knock, it was his house. The caretaker might knock, but he certainly wouldn’t wait for a reply before walking in. Maybe my girlfriend—no, more likely she’d steal in through the kitchen door and help herself to a cup of coffee. She wasn’t the type to knock.
I opened the door, and standing there, two yards away, was the Sheep Man. Showing markedly little interest in either the open door or myself who opened it. Carefully inspecting the mailbox as if it were a rare, exotic specimen. The Sheep Man was barely taller than the mailbox. Four foot ten at most. Slouched over and bow-legged besides.
There were, moreover, six inches between the doorsill, where I stood, and ground level, where he stood, so it was as if I were looking down at him from a bus window. As if ignoring his decisive shortcomings, he continued his scrutiny of the mailbox.
“CanIcomein?” the Sheep Man said rapid-fire, facing sideways the whole while. His tone was angry.
“Please do,” I said.
He crouched down and gingerly untied the laces of his mountaineering boots. They were caked with a sweet-roll-thick crust of mud. The Sheep Man picked up his boots with both hands and, with practiced technique, whacked them solidly together. A shower of hardened mud fell to the ground. Then demonstrating consummate knowledge of the lay of the house, he put slippers on and padded over to the sofa and sat down.
Just great, his face was saying.
The Sheep Man wore a full sheepskin pulled over his head. The arms and legs were fake and patched on, but his stocky body fit the costume perfectly. The hood was also fake, but the two horns that curled from his crown were absolutely real. Two flat ears, probably wire-reinforced, stuck out level from either side of the hood. The leather mask that covered the upper half of his face, his matching gloves, and socks, all were black. There was a zipper from neck to crotch.
On his chest was a pocket, also zippered, from which he extracted his cigarettes and matches. The Sheep Man put a Seven Stars to his mouth, lit up, and let out a long sigh. I fetched the washed ashtray from the kitchen.
“Iwannadrink,” said the Sheep Man. I duly went into the kitchen and got a half-bottle of Four Roses and two glasses with ice.
He poured whiskey over the ice, I did the same, we drank without a toast. As he drank, the Sheep Man mumbled to himself. His pug nose was big for his body, and with each breath he took, his nostrils flared dramatically. The two eyes that peered through the mask darted restlessly around the room.
When the Sheep Man finished his whiskey, he seemed more at ease. He put out his cigarette and with both hands rubbed his eyes under his mask.
“Woolgetsinmyeyes,” said the Sheep Man.
I didn’t know how to respond and said nothing.
“Youcamehereyesterdayafternooneh?” said the Sheep Man, rubbing his eyes some more. “Beenwatchingyouthewholetime.”
The Sheep Man stopped to pour a slug of whiskey over the half-melted ice and downed it in one gulp.
“Andthewomanleftalonethisafternoon.”
“You watched that too, did you?”
“Watchedher?Wedroveheraway.”
“Drove her away?”
“Surestuckourheadthroughthekitchendoorsaidyou
bettergohome.”
“Why?”
That threw the Sheep Man into a pout. “Why?” was obviously not the way to phrase a question to him, but before I could say anything else, his eyes slowly took on a different gleam.
“ShewentbacktotheDolphinHotel,” said the Sheep Man.
“Did she say so?
“Didn’tsaynothing.ButwheresheisistheDolphinHotel.”
“How do you know that?”
Again the Sheep Man refused to speak. He put both hands on his knees and glared at the glass on the table.
“But she did go back to the Dolphin Hotel?” I said.
“UhhuhtheDolphinHotel’sanicehotel.Smellslikesheep,” said the Sheep Man.
Silence again.
On closer inspection, I could see that the Sheep Man’s fleece was filthy, the wool stiff with oil.
“Did she say anything by way of a message when she left?”
“Nope,” the Sheep Man said, shaking his head. “Shedidn’t sayanythingandwedidn’task.”
“When you told her she’d better leave, she up and left without a word?”
“Right. Wetoldhershe’dbetterleavebecauseshewaswantingtoleave.”
“She came up here because she wanted to.”
“Wrong!” screamed the Sheep Man. “Shewantedtogetoutbutshe herselfwasconfused.That’swhywechasedherhome.
Youconfusedher.” The Sheep Man stood up and slammed his right hand down flat on the table. His whiskey glass slid two inches.
The Sheep Man froze in that pose until gradually his eyes lost their zeal and he collapsed back into the sofa, out of steam.
“Youconfusedthatwoman,” the Sheep Man said, this time more calmly. “Notaverynicethingatall.
Youdon’tknowathing.Allyou thinkaboutisyourself.”
“You’re telling me she shouldn’t have come here?”
“That’sright.Shewasn’tmeanttocomehere.
Youdon’tthinkabout anythingbutyourself.”
I sat there speechless, lapping my whiskey.
“Butstillwhat’sdoneisdone.Anywayit’soverforher.”
“Over?”
“You’llneverseethatwomanagain.”
“Because I only thought about myself?”
“That’sright.Becauseyouthoughtonlyaboutyourself.
Justdeserts.”
The Sheep Man stood up and went to a window, forced up the window frame with one hand, and took a breath of the fresh air. No mean show of strength.
