Last Night by James Salter Read Free Book Online

warning. Sometimes they were able to save themselves, but there was a point at which they could not. He sometimes wondered about himself—when the blow came and the beams began to give and come apart, what would happen? She was calling Brennan’s house again. There was never an answer.
    During the night the wind blew itself out. In the morning at first light, Warren could feel the stillness. He lay in bed without moving. His wife’s back was turned toward him. He could feel her denial.
    He rose and went to the window. The dog was still there, he could see its shape. He knew little of animals and nothing of nature but he could tell what had happened. It was lying in a different way.
    — What is it? she asked. She had come up beside him. It seemed she stood there for a long time. He’s dead.
    She started for the door. He held her by the arm.
    — Let me go, she said.
    — Ardis . . .
    She began to weep,
    — Let me go.
    — Leave him alone! he called after her. Let him be!
    She ran quickly across the grass in her nightgown. The ground was wet. As she came closer she paused to calm herself, to find courage. She regretted only one thing—she had not said good-bye.
    She took a step or two forward. She could sense the heavy, limp weight of him, a weight that would disperse, become something else, the sinews fading, the bones becoming light. She longed to do what she had never done, embrace him. At that moment he raised his head.
    — Warren! she cried, turning toward the house. Warren!
    As if the shouts distressed him, the dog was rising to his feet. He moved wearily off. Hands pressed to her mouth, she stared at the place where he had been, where the grass was flattened slightly. All night again. Again all night. When she looked, he was some distance off.
    She ran after him. Warren could see her. She seemed free. She seemed like another woman, a younger woman, the kind one saw in the dusty fields by the sea, in a bikini, stealing potatoes in bare feet.
    SHE DID NOT see him again. She went many times past the house, occasionally seeing Brennan’s car there, but never a sign of the dog, or along the road or off in the fields.
    One night in Cato’s at the end of August, she saw Brennan himself at the bar. His arm was in a sling, from what sort of accident she could not guess. He was talking intently to the bartender, the same fierce eloquence, and though the restaurant was crowded, the stools next to him were empty. He was alone. The dog was not outside, nor in his car, nor part of his life anymore—gone, lost, living elsewhere, his name perhaps to be written in a line someday though most probably he was forgotten, but not by her.

Such Fun
     
    WHEN THEY LEFT the restaurant, Leslie wanted to go and have a drink at her place, it was only a few blocks away, a large old apartment building with leaded windows on the ground floor and a view over Washington Square. Kathrin said fine, but Jane claimed she was tired.
    — Just one drink, Leslie said. Come on.
    — It’s too early to go home, Kathrin added.
    In the restaurant they had talked about movies, ones they’d seen and ones they hadn’t. They talked about movies and Rudy, the headwaiter.
    — I always get one of the good tables, said Leslie.
    — Is that right?
    — Always.
    — And what does he get?
    — It’s what he hopes he’ll get, Leslie said.
    — He’s really looking at Jane.
    — No, he’s not, Jane protested.
    — He’s got half your clothes off already.
    — Don’t, please, Jane said.
    Leslie and Kathrin had been roommates in college and friends ever since. They had hitchhiked through Europe together, getting as far as Turkey, sleeping in the same bed a lot of the nights and, except once, not fooling around with men or, as it happened that time, boys. Kathrin had long hair combed back dark from a handsome brow and a brilliant smile. She could easily have been a model. There was not much more to her than met the eye, but that had always been enough. Leslie