The Demon (26 page)

 
Harry had to get up earlier and earlier, as the collection of plants increased, so he could check each one and make certain everything was all right and see to it that they got the proper amount of light and water; and mist them so their air would be humid enough. And on the train he read his books along with the Wall Street Journal.

 
Inevitably, of course, he brought home an African violet. That weekend he built shelves across a couple of windows for his African violets. Soon there were Wedgewood, Cambridge Pink, Dolly Dimple, Norseman, Lilian Jarrett, Wintergreen and plain boy, girl, fluted, variegated, black-green and rippled leaves. He bought special brushes for cleaning the leaves, and propagated new plants from cuttings.

 
For a while Linda stood in amazement as plant after plant came home and the house started to look like the set for a jungle movie; and then there was the worry and work of keeping Harry Junior from knocking them over or from digging in the large pots. But it was worth it. Harry seemed calmer and more animated since he had developed this hobby and was more like his old self—not so moody or listless; and, of course, she was much happier as a result of this change. In

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addition, of course, not having to take clients out and stay in the city overnight helped too. And she loved plants and so there was no real problem in adjusting to this newest change of scenery.

 
You know dear, any more plants and we will be suffocated by an overabundance of oxygen.

 
Well, with all the smog and pollution, if we have enough plants we can insulate ourselves from the world.

A garden of Eden?

Sure, why not?

 
At last, thank goodness, Harry stopped buying plants. And it seemed to happen at exactly the right time. They looked lovely and certainly added something to the house, and Harrys happiness with them made Linda happy, but she did not think they could get another one in the house.

 
There wasnt room for another plant in Harrys schedule. Eventually he did not care for them in the morning during the week, giving them a quick check at night, and giving them his attention on the weekends. Gradually they were ignored at night and he might get around to watering them on Sunday, and not always then.

 
And the feeling of tension and anxiety, those squirmy feelings in his gut and arms and legs, returned and increased. He could feel himself withdrawing from his family slightly and fought against it, but had no idea what weapon to use since the enemy was unknown. He fought against the twisting of his mouth and forced a smile on his face and loaded his family in the car one Sunday for a drive. The day was clear and sunny and Harry Junior was in his car seat pointing and asking. Harry started to relax, listening to his son, his wife and her laughter and feeling the warmth of the sun on his face.

 
But he could not seem to concentrate properly on his driving. He seemed to be slightly startled by other cars, pedestrians and traffic lights. Then he became aware of why. He kept looking at the women on the street, or in other cars, out of

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the side of his eye, not wanting Linda to know what he was doing. He fought like hell against it, but he just could not seem to control himself. He started getting nauseous from the fight and the guilt. He could not figure out what was wrong. Why couldnt he keep his eyes on the road? He fixed his eyes on the road and concentrated as hard as he could on keeping them there, but some goddamn broad with her skirt up around her ass was walking across the street and he could tell she was going into a store just a few feet away and he would have to hurry if he was going to get a look at that ass and see if she had a nice set of boobs—a panicky look back at the road and as soon as it registered in his haunted head that the road was clear he tried to look at Linda out of the side of his eye to see if she had been watching his eyes to see where he was looking and then looked back to the road (suppose I had hit a car), and sweet Jesus he was going crazy and he locked his eyes on the road again and he could hear Linda and Harry Junior and he could even hear himself answer her, and these couple a cunts came out of a store and he could barely see them and he slowed down hoping they would come into better view but the jerks were just strolling along like a couple of snails and he did not want to lose sight of them but he had to make certain Linda was not watching him now that he was slowing the car down and he had to make believe he was looking at something on Lindas side of the street so he could see what she was watching and it seemed to be safe and he quickly looked to the other side but those dumb broads were still taking their sweet goddamn time and not moving an inch an hour for krist sake and he was going to have to make a turn and then maybe in the turn he could get a look at them and he had to make sure that Linda was just watching Harry Junior, and he went into the turn and they were lovely especially the way the breeze blew their dresses against their crotch and one wasnt wearing a bra and he could see the nipples of her tits sticking a mile out and her— A car from nowhere and Harry jammed on the brakes and his car started to skid and there wasnt any car and Linda yelled, Whats

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wrong? and Harry fought against the skid as he saw a car crashing into the side of their car and Linda and Harry Junior were a mangled mess and he could hear their screams and he got the car to the side and stopped . ..

and closed his eyes and

fought against the tearing pressure behind his eyes and the knotted nausea in his gut that seemed to be reaching up to his throat. . . .

          
Linda looked at him for a moment, calming herself, confused and bewildered by the suddenness of what had happened and by the fact that she had no idea why it had happened.

You all right, Harry? Anything wrong? No, no, shaking his head, fine. Im all right. What happened? All of a sudden— I dont know.

Is there something wrong with the car? No, leaning back in the seat and taking a deep breath. I dont think so. My foot just slipped. Everythings all right. Just startled me for a minute. Thats all.

 
O, thats a relief. I thought maybe you had a sudden pain or something. Anyway, smiling broadly, Harry Junior enjoyed it. He had a fine time. Hes still laughing, arent you sweetie?

 
Harry listened to them and watched them for a moment and slowly the fear drained from his body and the turbulence subsided and he started on the way home. He drove over cautiously and was shaking inside, but had no further problems and had no difficulty concentrating on his driving.

Later that afternoon he was sitting and reading the paper when Harry Junior suddenly dropped one of his toys, and he jerked up out of his chair and hit his head on one of the hanging plants. He growled low and viciously and grabbed the pot and yanked the macramé off the hook and threw the plant out the open door. Linda watched dumbfounded.

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13

                       
Harry stayed in the city Monday night. The guilt and remorse the next morning were severe and painful, but not as bad as the constant fight against desire and those vague and undefined feelings of fear, anxiety and impending doom. And, in the final analysis, he had no choice.

 
The plants withered and died, some slowly, some rapidly. Linda had tried to take care of them for a while, but eventually it had became too much of a chore and she, too, ignored them, trying very hard not to notice their slow death, and not to resent Harry for it.

 
Harry tried to ignore the plants, and the many books he had bought, but was always dragged back to them by his guilt. From time to time he would try to make some effort to take care of them, but when he did he was overcome with inertia bordering on paralysis. When he got home at night, he instantly

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seemed to know—to sense—how many additional leaves had died that day. Everywhere he looked, no matter where he was, he seemed to see brown. Brown, brown, brown—in a thousand shades, in a thousand tones. Brown.

 
One morning he noticed that Linda wasnt smiling. He didnt know if it was just for that moment, that morning, or had not been for a length of time. He wanted to ask her if anything was wrong, but was afraid. He was afraid she would tell him, and he knew that whatever it was, it was his fault. A couple of times he almost got the question out of his mouth, but the words just died on the vine. He just could not sit there and listen to her tell him what was wrong and how he was responsible for the pain on her face and in her heart.

And his son . . .

                                               
O Jesus.

 
He spent the morning interrupting his work and thoughts with the reliving of the morning; he had her smile when he asked her, and tell him that nothing was wrong. I just must have slept on my shoulder in a peculiar way and it aches a little, thats all, sweetheart.

You sure theres nothing I can do?

Positive.

 
And she smiled at him and he put his arms around her and kissed her, and kissed Harry Junior, and then hugged and kissed Linda, his dear, dear and beautiful wife, again.

 
His fantasy was interrupted by a call from Walt. He wanted to know if Harry could join him and Simmons for lunch.

 
Thanks Walt, but I think I/ll give it a pass today, Harry feeling off-balance.

You all right, Harry?

Sure, fine, his heart pounding, feeling trapped and panicky.

 
You dont sound right. And we havent seen very much of you lately.

Well, you know, Walt, Ive been real busy with the Von

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Landor project, Harry painfully aware of the quavering tone in his voice.

 
Yes, I know, Walt obviously dubious. But don't forget, we see Von Landor tomorrow at one.

 
Right Walt. Harry started to sigh before he cradled the phone and instantly wondered if Walt had heard it, or if he could somehow hear it even after the phone was hung up. He turned his back on the phone.

 
He browsed the streets and stores at lunch rime, but it did not give him the usual relief. He felt conspicuous. Almost as if he were lurking. He knew he could not continue to steal these lunch times, that his position and responsibilities prohibited it, but he could not stop right now. Later.

 
The afternoon was agonizing. He could feel the muscles in his legs twitch and his skin seemed to squirm. A dozen times, perhaps more, he picked up the phone to call Linda and tell her he would not be home tonight, but he didnt. He fought and fought and the conflict seemed almost to be eating him alive, so that there would be nothing left of him by evening. The battle continued to rage, and each time he reached for the phone, he forced himself to leave it alone. He had to go home tonight. He just had to. He felt as if it were a matter of life or death. At least this one time he could not give in. He just could not do it.

 
He did not realize just how incredibly tense he was until his body started to relax as the train left the station that evening. When the train had surfaced and was starting to trek its way to suburbia, he.could actually feel his body crumbling, and he was suddenly afraid he was going to fall asleep.

 
During dinner that evening his eye kept being drawn toward a large Dieffenbachia that was completely seared and was the same color as the dusty soil in the pot. As he ate his consciousness became more and more filled with the damn plant and his goddamn hand started to shake slightly as he looked at that ugly dumb-cane son of a bitching plant and his stomach kept knotting and his teeth seemed to be attacking his

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food and he started slashing at his meat until he could not stand looking at the fucking thing and he got up from the table and hacked that goddamn thing right down!!! right down to the surface of the soil! hacked that rotten son of a bitch with his steak knife, hacked it, hacked it, hacked and twisted that ugly brown bastard and then stabbed the soil over and over again and again until he felt his throat constrict with fire and he stumbled over to a chair and sat, rigid, his eyes closed, his head hanging.

He could hear Harry Junior asking

Linda why Daddy chopped down the plant and could hear the tremor in Lindas voice as she tried to hush him and get him to ignore what had happened and changed the subject and finally quieted him with some pudding.

Harrys body continued to

tremble and pound with rage and he felt chilled and poisoned and just endured the evening until it was time to go to bed. After Linda had finished bathing Harry Junior, and had put him to bed, she went over to Harry and put a hand on his shoulder and asked him if anything was wrong? He shook his head. You sure theres nothing I can do? He shook his head again. She looked at him for a moment, then slowly took her hand off his shoulder and spent the remainder of the evening reading a book.

 
It was cold in the room. Harry could feel it in his bones. He never felt cold like this before. It was icy and tomblike. And his body still felt poisoned. They went to bed and Linda kissed him good night and he could feel her concern and worry and all he could do was crawl deeper into his poisoned iciness.

 
He felt as if he had been awake all night. It seemed that even if he did fall asleep, he dreamt he was awake and tried so hard to sleep that he would wake himself up and start the cycle over again. He felt exhausted when the alarm went off in the morning. He somehow managed to talk with Linda in the morning while he ate breakfast and she took care of Harry Junior. It was all hazy, but he knew it was real.

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As he rode to work that morning the clicking and clacking of the train seemed to be saying, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, and it seemed to come up through the floor of the train and through his legs and body and pound into his head: STUPID! STUPID! STUPID! STUPID! STUPID!!!!