The Disappearance Read online

  Gaunt wondered why he and Paula had found Teddy likable and seen much of him. Not because they were neighbors—the friendship had begun long before. But because, most likely, in his own way Teddy was sincerity itself. He played his part, stuck to his code, and imagined himself the soul of chivalry and romance; he was invariably good-tempered and kind and possibly had saved many worth-while marriages certainly without ruining one. He amused Paula, and if he sometimes bored Gaunt, that was a matter of degree only—for most persons sometimes bored Gaunt owing, he felt, to the fact that where his main interests lay—in speculative philosophy—few persons any place (and almost none in Miami) were capable of conversing. Teddy amused Paula and therefore pleased Gaunt. She’d always had a sisterly feeling about him—advised him in his quandaries and helped him redecorate his bungalow after the Gaunts had built their new home across the palmettos and pines.

  It was time for Barker to speak. “I’ll tell you what happened—what I think happened. I’ve made up my mind to—though I never did such a thing before. In confidence, understand.”

  “Of course.”

  “You know Myra, Mrs. Jay McCantley?”

  Gaunt felt a slight shock. Surely Myra, for all her serene allure, was above reproach! Surely a superficial chap like Barker would not interest her! His mind’s eye conjured her up in many situations—on platforms, at banquet tables, in booths at charitable bazaars: pale brow, pale skin, pale-amber eyes, and long ash-blonde hair knotted heavily at the nape of her neck. Her husband-banker, church warden, civic leader—always at her side. And the four children too-particularly in the annual Sunday newspaper features about “Miami leaders” which generally started off with the McCantleys, their Spanish-type home on the Bay, their offspring and their good works.

  Gaunt thought all that—and nodded.

  Teddy now took his pipe from his even, polished teeth and looked at its bowl.

  Very male, very diffident, very-pseudo sensitive, Gaunt thought. An act.

  “You’re a man of the world,” Teddy said.

  Few would deny that label and certainly not Gaunt. He smiled as (he noted with self-annoyance) a man of the world should smile, and nodded a second time.

  Teddy smoked again. “A bachelor—gets about.”

  “Why not?”

  “And—it gets around that—he gets around.” Teddy chuckled at that little joke of phrase.

  “Bound to.”

  “There are some women—mature, sophisticated from the—well—the bookish standpoint—whose lives are pretty—bleak. Tame. Maybe merely a touch too monotonous.” Teddy, as he talked, became calmer. It was the subject most familiar to his thoughts—with the possible exception of stock quotations. “Such women are sometimes attracted to the type of man I just referred to. One who-—gets around.”

  “Why not?”

  “The point is”—Teddy hesitated—“they rather go after them, at times. In a snooty way, of course—no matter how badly they get the old burn on.”

  Gaunt felt impelled, from a sense of his admiration of Myra, to better that banal description. “You mean, they reach that point in wisdom and experience at which their imaginations become active—that point, after completing their major duties as wives and mothers, at which a certain private indulgence seems not unworthy? And if they happen to meet a suitably appealing male, who is unattached and available, they’re not above giving him a sense of their feelings?”

  Teddy beamed. “Right! What I was trying to say! Anyhow—not long ago—

  bridge-tea at the Island Harbor Yacht Club—Myra asked me to take a turn down the dock to talk over plans for the St. Patrick’s Day party—and I suddenly realized she was—

  well—she put her hand in mine and—wiggled her fingers. You know. I won’t say I wasn’t surprised. The statuesque type—one worships them from afar. I was on the dubious side—even me.” Teddy paused, flushed faintly and went on. “Looked at her—

  and you could see it. There we were, leaning against a blob of pilings—wind blowing, Bay blue, people all over the lawn and veranda behind us—and Myra with her fingers in my hand, looking at me—the way. Do you know what?”

  “What?” Gaunt asked, feeling depressed by the story.

  “Women like that, leaders, women used to commanding—are sometimes terribly direct, Bill. Most exciting! She simply said, ‘Yes?’ in an asking way and I said,

  ‘Wonderful,’ or something of that sort. She said it would have to be very very hushy because her husband’s a Texan, for one thing, and her reputation couldn’t even have the old breath of what-not on it. She had one friend she trusted, gal we both know who’ll be nameless. Cute apartment. I thought of the idea of driving home—to seem to be at home—and sneaking out through the hedge and using a rented car—the one in your drive—myself.”

  Gaunt, who had known approximately what was coming, now knew precisely. “I see.”

  The younger man sucked on his pipe. “Might as well fess up. Today was one of the days.” He smiled candidly, delightedly. “What a woman! Used the old beauty parlor stall—it’s about the best—”

  “I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with it.”

  “Ye gods!” Teddy chortled. “A husband—unfamiliar with that one! Lookee, Bill!

  A woman can spend three-four hours in one of those superbeauty parlors. Right? Hair, nails, massage, steam bath, reducing exercises, the works. Or, she can get things fixed up in an hour, with a bevy of minions fussing on her at once. But can you tell—can anybody tell—whether she put in one hour or four? No. And that gives the dolls three good hours, not even ‘shopping’—where they might get crossed up because some catty pal wouldn’t have seen them where they said they were. In a place like the Salon of Youth, in the Gables, for instance, a girl gets privacy from the minute she goes in. Cubicles. No checking up possible. See?”

  Gaunt saw. He was a little weary with the detail. “You and Myra then, were in the cute apartment of the nameless friend at four this afternoon, and she disappeared.”

  Teddy leaped to his feet. “Good God, man! You know!”

  “I suspected.”

  “But—how? What happened? I’ve been going nuts! Stark nuts! The thing was simply impossible! If I’d been in another room—well—they run out sometimes. If I had even been dozing—well—one does. If—well, to put it absolutely on the line—”

  “Very embarrassing!”

  “Embarrassing! Look here, Bill! I’ve shot grizzlies! I’ve roped mountain lions with ranch pals! I flew a P-38 over Europe when we moved across France. I’ve been shot down in flames. Bailed out right into an alley, not a scratch, cafe a block away and a pretty waitress, as I’ve told you. I think. I mean, I’ve always known what it is to be scared. But never that scared! There I was—”

  “I can clearly imagine.” Gaunt sought to avoid further confession.

  “You can’t possibly imagine!” Memory had started Teddy’s shakes again.

  Glowing coals and dottle spilled from his pipe. “There she was. I mean—there we were.

  We couldn’t have been more there. She even just—well—put all that ash-blonde hair over us both. And then. . . .”

  “Gone.”

  “Gone,” Teddy whispered. “Gone,” he repeated hoarsely. “I thought I’d had some lapse of the brain. Maybe fainted a minute. Got up pronto and looked. Called—not loud enough to attract anybody. Purse was there. Clothes there. No Myra. Seemed impossible.

  Still does.”

  There was, Gaunt felt at that moment, a good deal of justice in the predicament.

  Yet, while he noted its ironical merits, he could still sympathize with the other man.

  “What did you do?”

  “I waited. What the devil else could I do? Helena . . . There! I’ve spilled that! Too damned upset! Well—Helena was due back at five-thirty. The apartment house has six floors and I was on the third. Fire escapes at the end of the hall. Elevators—automatic—

  two of ‘em. I whipped into the old gabardin
es, stashed away the purse and clothes-and sat around. Figured even if I’d conked out for a sec, she’d hardly run down the fire escape or use the elevators-skinny, like that.”

  “Skinny?”

  “In the buff, old fellow. The au naturel. Myra is a levelheaded dame, if anything.

  And really something, for forty-two she admits and four more I know about—and four kids besides. That milk-white skin—and a figure like the best in the old Metropolitan Museum of Art! Anyway, I stashed things—and sat—and stewed. Had a drink. Went to the bathroom and looked myself over—thought possibly somebody had sneaked in, socked me on the beezer, and shanghaied Myra. Somebody such as her husband. But no lump on the Barker bean. Thought maybe the drinks we’d had when she got there were Mickeys. But no head, no thick taste, no aftereffect. And the worst thing—so far as I could figure, if I was out, it only lasted a minute or two. Because we’d been talking about what time it was—just before—”

  “I’m not surprised,” Gaunt said.

  Teddy’s voice was thunderstruck. “You’re—not—surprised!”

  “No. All the women vanished at four-five this afternoon.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No.”

  Teddy sat down. His frown was convincing to the extent that it indicated an immense effort to think, if not actual thought. “I don’t get it.”

  “That was four o’clock. It’s nearly seven now. What did you do in between?”

  “I told you. Fizzled around the apartment. Decided to wait till Helena came back.

  She never did. By six o’clock or so, I was nuts. I put Myra’s things in one of Helena’s bags and scrammed. Got in the rented car. Drove out over a few back roads—wanting to cogitate. Decided to come over here—finally—since this seemed like something that needed a pile of gray matter and a lot of the kind of cautious finding out that Paula’s so good at.”

  “I suppose she is.”

  “Paula?” Teddy stared at his host. “You should know! At intrigue, that girl makes old Machiavelli look like a first-time canasta player!” He shook his head. He paced. He sat down. “I tried parking and applying the noodle. No dice, as I said. So I came here.

  Back roads most of the way—felt like keeping out of Sight, somehow. Nearly got held up once, though. Been an accident. Can’t figure it.” Suddenly his voice rose. “You mean it—that all women disappeared?”

  “Girls, girl babies, women—all over the earth. The whole female sex.”

  To Gaunt’s surprise, Teddy relaxed visibly. He stretched out his feet. He looked at the perfect whiteness and the shining brownness of his two-toned, wedge-soled shoes.

  “You know,” he said soberly, “in a way, it might be a relief. Atomic stuff, I suppose?”

  “What!”

  Teddy was still occupied with personal reactions—especially with his relief from immediate fear. “Isn’t that it? Understand the rays sterilize people. Probably they tested something—and it just did a full job—on the women.”

  “Look here,” Gaunt began, and realized he did not know precisely what he intended to say. “Look here,” he repeated. “It isn’t the atomic bomb. Nothing like that is atomically possible. Radiation isn’t selective.”

  “What is it, then? Will they come back?”

  “Nobody knows.”

  The pipe was out. Teddy relighted it. “They all went—like Myra? Whoosh!”

  “Not even a whoosh. Just gone.”

  “Clothes and all?”

  It was a matter Gaunt had not thitherto considered. “In, I suppose, whatever they were—or weren’t—wearing at the time.”

  “You suppose we’re next on the list? Men?”

  That, again, was another point, and this time a cardinal point, which Gaunt was ashamed to realize he had so far failed to consider. His shame was greater because Teddy Barker, rather than Jim Elliot, had hit upon it. “Can’t say. Nobody knows why or how they vanished. So there’s no way to conjecture about males.”

  “It’ll rack hell out of the Market! Close it awhile, most likely.”

  “No doubt.”

  Teddy pulled his ear lobe. “Well—I came to the right place. Found out. Guess I’ll go over to the Hunt Club for supper. Got a date—no, thank God—had a date with Bessie for late tonight. Glad it’s off. If the Market shuts the old doors, and the dames stay gone, I think I’ll run down to the Keys and catch up with my fishing. Want to tag along, Bill?”

  The philosopher stared for a moment at the other man and slowly smiled. “No, thanks, Teddy. Be busy. You may be, yourself.”

  “Suppose so. Still—they’ll probably pop back tomorrow. Be a pity. I could stand a couple of weeks without ‘em. Couldn’t you?”

  Gaunt put, with vehemence, a question that tormented him. “Look here, Teddy, before you go. Tell me how in hell you manage to take a piece of news like this almost as if you expected it?”

  “Expected it?” Teddy was startled. “If you’d seen me this P.M. you know how damn’d little I expected it! But you tell me it happened to all the dames—and consequently I say—so what? All dames—is different. Ever since those atom boys got fiddling with the forces of nature, we’ve known some cockeyed thing would sure as hell happen, sooner or later, haven’t we? Poison the air. End of the world. Destruction of the whole map. People tinkering with powers they don’t understand, right? Well? The dames vanish, Whango—and they’re gone! Some long-hair with more know-how than good sense pulled one that slipped a few cogs—right?”

  “I hope,” Gaunt said softly, “others are as sanguine. Still—that opinion might make things go hard with chemists and physicists—”

  Teddy rose, “It should.” He sliced the Bat of his hand across his throat and winked cheerfully. “The self-important, stuck-up, know-it-all, I-dood-it-and-you-shove-it so-and-sos! Well, I’ll scram along to the club and see what the other fellows have to say.

  It should be rich! And if the dames are gone for good—brother!—will I be Miami’s most envied man! The only one who really got. . . .” He broke into pleasant laughter, “What sourballs they’ll be! Thanks for everything, Bill! The news sure relieved me. Did right to come straight here. Be seeing you.”

  Gaunt, who confined himself as a rule to “damn” and “hell,” sat motionless until his guest had started the motor of the rented car and swept buoyantly down the drive.

  Then, with great deliberation, he said, “Well, I’ll be God-damned!”

  He was hungry. He realized that Jim and young Gordon were doubtless waiting for him.

  It was a short and mournful meal—the boy silent, his face taut and occasionally tremulous, the flesh around his eyes as pale as chalky water—the father in a trancelike state. When Gaunt arrived, Jim did trouble himself to report such news as the radio had supplied but it was the kind Gaunt had anticipated and discounted.

  Nation-wide martial law. The mobilization of all emergency services. At the Departments of State and Defense secret conferences were in progress. The President had spoken at six o’clock. The situation, he said, was world-wide, although Soviet Russia had not officially admitted the disappearance of its women. No one, he added, knew what had occasioned the awesome circumstance. People were advised to go to churches, to stay calm, to refrain from looting, to care for all handicapped persons and children. News of any surviving female, anywhere, was solicited urgently. A “Committee of Savants” was being summoned to Washington for “discussion and investigation.” Local and national news had flooded in, after the President’s speech. Many cities were fighting sizable fires-Chicago, in a blizzard. Hordes of half-crazed tourists thronged Miami’s railroad stations and airports but accommodations were unobtainable.

  That sort of thing, Gaunt thought.

  After his summary, Jim returned to his trance—serving the stew in bowls and eating automatically. For dessert, there was icebox cake. When Jim sliced it, he dropped a solitary tear into the whipped cream, plainly remembering that Bella had prepared it only hours before. He ha
d made coffee and the two men drank it.

  “Maybe,” Gaunt said, as they carried the dishes to the sink, “you two would like to get in my car and ride around?”

  The child’s sad eyes showed a momentary eagerness.

  But the lawyer shook his head. “I want to think, Bill. And want no part in tonight’s holocausts. It would probably be dangerous to go into the city, in any case.

  There’s some key to this, Bill—and the route to the key is meditation.”

  “Then I’ll see you in the morning—and thanks for dinner.”

  Gravely, Gaunt shook hands with both of them, and gave the boy a pat on the back. “Take care of your dad. Keep your courage up, Gordon. That’ll help him the most of all.

  His porch light was reflected from the boles of pines beyond the T-shaped house and it silhouetted indistinctly the roofs and walls of two wings. So recently welcome and joyous, so new-the house now loomed as bare and bleak as an abandoned factory. Its awning windows (he thought) were exactly like factory windows and the flat roofs had an industrial look. The rectilinear shadows were unhomelike, suddenly, and not even functional, since all significant function was now lost to the structure.

  Gaunt got in his car, one of the two family sedans, and’ morosely avoided Edwinna’s coupe as he drove away.

  At first he encountered little ‘traffic. What cars there were either dawdled uncertainly or shot by drunkenly. Along LeJeune Road, men and boys were standing on their lawns, sitting on porches, talking, calling to each other. Everywhere, radios gibbered. The Dixie Highway was without illumination, a dark hall cut through banyan trees. The jam of city-bound cars began on Brickell Avenue. Gaunt realized that if he approached Miami much closer he would find no parking place and might later be unable to extricate himself from the crawling, honking river of vehicles. He was, at the moment, near a girls’ school his two daughters had attended. There would be no school on the next day, he thought. With that he turned into the play yard and parked in such a way he could readily drive out.