Nightfall Read Free Page A

happy.” He took her hand and kissed it and looked up at her again. “Won't we?”
      “Of course.”
      “Sit on my lap.”
      “I'm gaining weight.”
      “You're a feather.”
      She sat on his lap. He drank some more lemonade and gave her some. She fed him a little more salad and took some herself. They looked at each other and laughed quietly.
      “Like my hair?”
      He nodded. He put his hand against her head, played with her hair. “You women have it tough in summer. All that hair.”
      “In winter it comes in handy.”
      “I wish it was winter already. I wish this case was over with.”
      “You'll get it over with.”
      “It's a problem.”
      She gave him a sideway smile. “And you eat it up.”
      “Not this one,” he said. “This one's different. Something about this one gives me the blues. The way he talked. That tone. I don't know—”
      She stood up. “I want to see if the kids are asleep.”
      Fraser lit a cigarette, leaned back a little to watch her as she crossed the living room. When the wall cut her off, he leaned forward and dragged deeply at the cigarette and stared at the empty glass in front of him. A frown moved onto his forehead and became more of a frown. The empty glass looked very empty.

3

          In this particular Village place there wasn't much doing. Four men at the far end of the bar were having a quiet discussion concerning horses. A young man and a young woman were taking their time with long, cool drinks and smiling at each other. A short, fat man was sullenly gazing into a glass of beer.
      Vanning turned back to his gin rickey. A peculiar sense of loneliness came upon him, and he knew it was just that and nothing more. He wanted to talk to somebody. About anything. And again he saw himself in a mirror, this time the mirror behind the bar, and he saw in his own eyes the expression of a man without a friend. He felt just a bit sorry for himself. At thirty-three a man ought to have a wife and two or three children. A man ought to have a home. A man shouldn't be standing here alone in a place without meaning, without purpose. There ought to be some really good reason for waking up in the morning. There ought to be some impetus. There ought to be something.
      Again one of those sighs got past his lips, and he recognized it and didn't like it. He was sighing that way too much these days. He finished the drink, downing the last few gulps too fast to get any real taste out of it, and then he ordered another drink and while waiting for it he saw the short, stocky beer drinker looking at him in a hesitant sort of way. It was evident that the fat fellow wanted to strike up a conversation, the fat fellow was lonely, too. Just then the drink arrived, another gin rickey.
      Vanning offered the fat fellow a kindly smile, and the smile was appreciated and returned. Vanning moved his drink down along the bar, holding onto the smile, and said, “Well, this is one way of beating the heat.”
      The fat fellow nodded. “One thing I like about beer,” he said. “It stays cold once it gets in you. Whiskey don't work that way.”
      “I guess whiskey's a winter drink,” Vanning said, and suddenly he realized this was going to be an extremely dull conversation, and if he didn't push the topic onto another track they would be talking about liquor for the rest of the evening. He wondered what they ought to talk about and he considered baseball for a moment but had to discard it because he certainly wasn't up on his baseball. He didn't even know the league standings. It had been a long time since he had last opened a newspaper to the sports page.
      And now, since there was nothing to say and nothing better to do, Vanning went to work on his drink.
      The fat fellow said, “She's giving you the