Kate Wilhelm in Orbit - Volume Two by Kate Wilhelm Read Free Book Online Page A

way. Prayers, good deeds, confession. Whatever he does to atone.”
    “Is it all over now? Who else is there to go berserk? Are you safe?”
    “Nobody is safe from himself. Nobody that I know, anyway. Maybe Pitcock. I’m gambling on Pitcock, but I don’t know.” He drank deeply. The alcohol was numbing him now and he felt grateful.
    The wind blew harder and the palm trees came to life. On the porch the silence deepened. Beatrice took Eliot’s glass from his hand and went inside with it, bringing it back in a few moments without speaking. He put it down this time. There had been a need before, but the urgency was gone.
    “I don’t understand what’s happening,” Beatrice said quietly, “but whatever it is, it’s changed you.”
    “Nobody understands, least of all me. I’m just groping for the right thing to do from one moment to the next, no plans, no over­all theory to account for anything.”
    “It won’t go on like this, will it? We couldn’t stand this kind of turmoil day after day.”
    “No. It’s building up to something. Can’t you feel that? Each step is farther, each thrust more nearly mortal.” Lassitude was creeping through his bones. Abruptly he stood up. “I have to go or I’ll fall asleep here.”
    “Eliot… Do you have to go?”
    “I think so. Are you afraid?”
    “No. It isn’t that. Yes, go now. I’ll see you in the morning.”
    “No work tomorrow. I’m going by the office and post a sign, a declared holiday.” He held her hand for a minute. Soon, he thought, soon. Then he left her and walked through the darkness of the shadows cast by the oak trees and the pines, around the ruins that rose abruptly, smelling the night-blooming cereus, and the sea, and the constant odor of decay that was present wherever there were tropical plants. The scents mingled, the drive toward life stronger than death, blossoms in decay, greenery erupting from the black. He didn’t turn on a light when he got to the building, but walked through the dark lobby that echoed hollowly.
    He sat at his desk for several minutes before he flicked the light switch. Then he typed the notice quickly and found scotch tape to attach it to the door. His head was starting to throb and his weariness returned, making his legs ache and his back hurt. Outside the building, he hesitated at the lake. It was springfed, cool, clean water, without a ripple on its surface. The moon rode there as sedately as if painted. A whippoorwill cried poignantly.
    Very slowly Eliot began to take off his clothes. He walked out into the water, and when it was up to his thighs, he dove straight out into it, down, down. The moon shattered and fled, the resting swans screamed alarm, and half a dozen ducks took flight. Eliot let out his air slowly, measuring it, and when it was gone he began to rise again, but suddenly he doubled in pain. He sank, struggling to loosen the knot in his stomach. The water was luminous now, pale green and silver, and where the bottom had been there was nothing. He sank lower, drifting downward like a snowflake. The broken moon was falling with him, flecks of silver, a streak of a heavier piece flashing by; the minuscule particles of it that touched him adhered, turning him into a radiant being, floating downward in the bottomless pool. From somewhere a thought came to him, unwanted and obtrusive: The lake is only eight feet deep in the very center. He tried to push the thought away, but his body had heard, and the struggle began again, and now he tumbled and one leg stretched out until his toes felt the sandy bottom and pushed hard. He exploded in pain, as the moon had exploded. The water rushed in to fill his emptiness and he gasped and choked and coughed and the fire in his lungs was all there was.
    He lay on the sand, raw and sore from retching, and he knew he couldn’t move. His legs wouldn’t hold him yet. Another spasm shook him and he heaved again.
    He had little memory of getting to his house and into bed.