Stillness & Shadows by John Gardner (accelerated reader books TXT) 📕

rice gains. “I was scared, that’s all. I was afraid you’d—I don’t know. You hear stories, especially a woman living all alone the way I do.” She said woman as if she’d learned to call herself that only recently.

“So anyway,” Craine said, helping her again, “Hannah called your parents and they came down.”

She nodded again, guilty. “And they took me to the Gardens, like it was my birthday or something. ‘Your father is very concerned about you,’ my mother says. There he sits, cutting his meat in little pieces—he has trouble with his teeth—and every now and then he takes a peek at his watch. He has to get back, can’t even wait till morning. Big contract in the works. My mother’s gonna have to drive so he can sleep; they have the Cadillac. But he’s very concerned, right? Right.” Quickly she forced herself to soften the tone, but only for a moment, her anger too much for her. “I don’t know, maybe he is. Anyway this is her business, not his. The woman is the homemaker, husband’s supposed to take care of the prayers and credit cards. ‘Your father is very very concerned, Elaine. Look at him, he hasn’t been able to eat since he heard.’ He’s been eyeing my wine all night just in case I don’t drink it all. All the waiters stand around listening, and the people at the tables around us keep glancing over, you know, annoyed at us. They all have blue eyes. It really makes me physically ill. ‘Listen, Elaine,’ my mother says—she puts on this expression, making sure I won’t shriek at her—‘your father and I believe you should find yourself a good analyst down here, someone you can see on a more regular basis. Maybe Dr. Metzger can recommend someone.’ He’s my shrink at home. ‘It’s a university,’ says my mother. ‘They must have good analysts. Are there Jews on the faculty?’ I want to scream, I’m so embarrassed. ‘Ma,’ I want to say, ‘I’m not crazy.’ What I really want to do is get out of there, make them bring me home. Home to Evanston, I mean, the place where we lived before we moved, the place I told you about, where I saw—” She broke off abruptly and glanced at Craine, then away, nervously running her tongue around her lips.

“The place where you witnessed the murder?” Craine asked.

She nodded, swallowing. “Not the murder itself, actually. But I did see the murderer running away. He had on these satiny blue and white gym clothes, and short, brown hair, a sort of crew cut. The way he jumped the hedge, he was like a hurdler.”

Her hand was trembling. Craine studied it, then glanced at his own, trembling too, presumably not for the same reason. He got out his pipe and tobacco. “You told the police that?”

“I phoned in an anonymous tip. I was afraid, you know what I mean?”

“You did the right thing. It’s all right.” He patted his pockets for matches. “You saw his face?”

She shook her head, looking down.

“But the person you see following you now is the same one, that much you’re sure of.”

Elaine Glass nodded, but hesitantly. Perhaps only now had she begun to have doubts. When she raised her head there were tears in her eyes. Craine started, thought of touching her hand, then thought better of it. The waitress came hurrying toward their booth, carrying a tray, and he raised his hand, beckoning, but she ignored him. He was secretly glad. He found his matches, struck one, lit his pipe, and took a puff or two. Casually he drew his bottle from the paper sack on the seat beside him and poured two, three fingers of it into his emptied water glass. He saluted Elaine—she was looking away, trying to see the clock, or trying to hide from him the fact that her long, agile fingers, quick as bird’s wings, were brushing away tears—and taking advantage of her distraction, he drained the glass. Then, gently, giving her no excuse for anger, Craine asked, “You have boyfriends, Elaine?” At once he added, to mislead her, “Someone you could call if—”

“No,” she said. Again her eyes filled and she turned away sharply, pawing at the tears with the back of one wrist.

Craine threw a scrutinizing look at her, then poured himself another splash of Scotch. He registered—and hurriedly forgot—the thought that he was drinking too fast. It was a thought too complex to lead to action anyway. He wanted to keep his mind sharp, wanted not to rouse her doubts and fears, but also the curious excitement he was feeling was making him jittery, and if he had to keep consciously remembering not to drink ….

“Men are not exactly the meaning of every woman’s existence,” she said. She spoke mainly to the farther wall, the clock. When he said nothing she continued, turning back to him, “Are you aware that before this present civilization, women ruled the world for centuries?”

“I hadn’t heard that,” Craine said. At last the waitress acknowledged his eye. When she was near enough to hear him, he said, “Two coffees.” Then, to Elaine, not looking at her directly: “You’ll have coffee?”

She shrugged irritably. “I guess.” This time she dabbed at her tears openly and sniffed.

“Two coffees?” the waitress said, mainly to Elaine. Craine nodded. The waitress hesitated a moment longer, then left.

“It’s true,” Elaine said. She took a breath, getting control of herself. “When Caesar fought in Gaul, most of the generals who fought against him were women. Society was matriarchal. You know what I mean? For thousands of years it was the Mother Goddess that ruled everything. Look at Stonehenge. It’s a circle, right? And those tumps in Ireland and Wales, or wherever.” She looked up at him. “You know what tumps are?”

“Not offhand.” Craine sipped his Scotch, eyes lowered.

“They’re very ancient.” Her voice became teacherish. “We studied them in anthropology. They’re these man-made hills, they have a door facing east, at