I dreamt of Jill, naturally. Oh, certainly there was enough of the confusing dream landscape, as there always is; Kellem appeared now and then, doing what she does in life; but for the most part it was Jill, looking at me with varying expressions of horror, tenderness, wistfulness, defiance, and even lust-more expression, in fact, than I’d ever seen on her face in the real world, so I think my imagination supplied a great deal of it.
In my dream we were walking around and around some object set in the middle of a room, like a large chair, although I don’t think I was ever certain what the object was. We were playing a silly game of can’t-catch-me, but there was great urgency to the game, for all that we were, at times, laughing as we played. Then, without a resolution to the game, I was standing in front of her, holding both of her shoulders and saying, “Have you done what I ordered you to?”
She tried to look away from me, but I would not let her; in the dream, the force of my will was tangible, and very, very strong. In the end she shuddered and collapsed into some poorly defined small, furry thing, which scampered off to go fetch something or other in response to my command.
I awoke some time after this, knowing at once that the next time I saw her she would have fulfilled my wishes, and taken by a strong desire to set this dream down on paper before I forgot it; I don’t think I’ve ever had a dream like this before; I don’t think the circumstances which caused it to be have ever come up before.
I will visit Jill now, and discover if I have been deceived.
She was sitting quietly on her bed, her back resting on the wall. Her room had been partially restored to its former splendor-that is, the additions had been removed, but the artwork had not been put up again. She was wearing a white dressing gown, and I had the impression that she had been sitting there, just like that, for hours, maybe days.
I came in and shut the door behind me. She turned her head slowly, but her face betrayed no expression. I looked at her for just a moment, then she stirred herself-it seemed to take some effort-and rose from the bed. She stood before me, unbuttoned her dressing gown, let it fall to the floor, and waited.
Afterward I covered her up and left her sleeping deeply.
I went down the stairs and found Susan sitting on the couch, her feet up. She was wearing another light blue tank top and a green printed skirt. She said, “I never heard you come in.”
“I’ve been upstairs seeing Jill,” I said.
She put down her reading matter, which seemed to be a textbook, and said, “Is she any better?”
“No. Well, maybe. Her room looks better.”
“Yes. That didn’t last long. I wonder what she’ll find next.”
“She’s sleeping now, at any rate.”
“I think Don’s death hit her pretty hard.”
“Apparently.”
“She needs to come out of it, though.”
“Have you ever lost anyone close?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes. My friend Vivian.”
“Oh. I hadn’t realized.”
“It’s been almost two years, now. I could say a drunk crashed into her, and it would be true, but she was pretty loaded herself.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yes.” Her face is amazing. Even when she was holding back any expression I could almost read her feelings like words on a page. I can’t help comparing her to Jill, whose face is dead, or Kellem, who hardly ever lets her feelings show. Except anger. Kellem has always been willing to show anger.
I studied Susan’s face and said, “But you’ve recovered from her death, I think.”
“Yes.”
“How?
She considered this. “Vivian was one of the wittiest people I’ve ever known, and one of the wisest. I wrote down everything I could remember that she’d ever said, and every once in a while I read through things, and I quote her from time to time.”
“You’re keeping her with you.”
“Yes.”
“You are very beautiful.”
She stood up and I held her, but that is all I did, then, because it wouldn’t have felt right to do more. I did kiss her once, lightly, as I was leaving. She said, “Your lips are always so cold.”
I started to say “Like my heart,” but I didn’t, for fear that she might believe me.
An altogether splendid evening; although, consequently and ironically, there is little to say about it. But it has gotten me back to work on the typewriting machine. I woke up completely recovered, and, in fact, feeling rather better than I have in some time. I took the opportunity to visit Susan, who was looking slightly wan but seemed to be in fine spirits.
After checking on Jill, who was doing better, we went off and saw a play at a little private theater in the Tunnel. The theater is called the Clubhouse, and the play itself was a fairly recent work by someone I’d never heard of that was about three generations of women and concerned itself with insanity, spelling bees, and all manner of subjects in between. It was both written and performed with a good deal of humor and genuine pathos.
Susan laughed up until the end, when she cried, and then I took her home, kissed her hand at the door and bid good evening to her surprised, slightly disappointed, but seemingly charmed countenance.
Even the weather has conspired to make this a pleasant night, because, although it was cold, it was also a beautiful clear night without wind, and the sliver of moon was sharp and fine before she fell into the western skyline. The lack of wind is also serving to keep this room more snug than usual.
I feel very much like having a nice chat with Jim, so I believe that I will.
Kellem has started the game.
My spirits have improved, now that it has begun; I still don’t know precisely what she has planned, but at least I know she has started. I am more relaxed than I have been in quite some time.
I had came out of the shower; I was naked except for a towel wrapped around my head; when Jim walked up to me silently and said without preamble, “The police were here today.”
I pulled the towel away and looked at him. He was staring at the steamy bathroom over my shoulder. “Ah,” I said.
“It was about nine o’clock this morning. They knocked on the door, then broke it down.”
“You didn’t let them in?”
Jim, apparently, didn’t think that was very funny. “There were seven of them, six in uniform and one in plainclothes.”
“How were they armed?”
“Two had shotguns, the rest weren’t carrying anything.”
“I don’t like shotguns.”
“I know.”
“In the future, don’t allow them in the house.”
He barely smiled.
I said, “Did they search?”
“Oh, yes. Up one side and down the other. They were at it a good five, six hours.”
“What did they find?”
“Well, they didn’t find you.”
“I’d sort of figured that out already. What did they find?”
He almost laughed. “Some dirty laundry.”
“Did they take it?”
“I’m afraid so.”
I tried to remember what I’d left out so I could determine how annoyed I ought to be. When a place has a nice hideyhole like this one does, I tend to make sure everything is there before I sleep (including these papers, by the way). I remembered that there was a nice silk shirt that I’d miss, but everything else was easily replaceable. If they had come two days earlier, they’d have found a week’s worth of dirty laundry. “Much joy may it bring them,” I said. “What did they say?”
