* * * * *
It was light. Not bright, but the vague light of the first blush of
dawn. The rheumatism in my right shoulder woke up a second or two
after I did--but I had never had rheumatism in my life! Startled, I
jerked an elbow under me and rose up.
Beside me, still asleep, lay a woman. She had gray hair. It was done up
in tight curls held in place with bobby pins, and made her look bald
headed.
I stared at her for one preternatural second, then groaned, "Oh Lord!"
and sank back on my pillow.
The woman stirred in her sleep. She opened her eyes, and I closed mine
quickly, pretending to be asleep, waiting for her to scream in alarm at
the strange man in her bed.
Instead, she patted my cheek gently. "Dave," I heard her say. "It's
five-thirty. Time to put the water on for coffee."
I sighed deeply, pretending to wake up, and got out of bed without
looking at her. I felt her eyes on my back as I stumbled toward the
door and temporary escape from her inquiring eyes. The rheumatism in my
right shoulder was throbbing painfully.
I had never seen the living room before. It was furnished with things
that were well kept, but out of style. It wasn't my living room.
Nevertheless I crossed it to the kitchen and quietly searched cupboards
until I found the dripolator and a kettle that was obviously used for
heating the coffee water. I filled it and placed it over a gas flame.
Not until then did I let myself think. I was Fred Martin. I must
remember that. There was strong evidence that I was Orville Snyder with
a no-good wife who might be either alive or murdered. Now--I took a
deep breath--who else was I?
There was a mirror hanging on the wall beside the breakfast table. I
could look at myself in it. Or would my face blur like the type on
those headlines I had been dreaming about?
The gray haired woman had called me Dave.
I went to the mirror and looked at my reflection. I had steeled myself
to expect anything. My own face looked at me, an intense frown of
concentration on it, the eyelids drawn down to mere slits.
I sighed with relief. At least I still had that one thing to cling to.
I rubbed my cheek with visibly trembling fingers and mentally damned my
aching right shoulder.
The water in the kettle was singing. It reminded me of what I had come
in here to do. I spent five minutes searching for the coffee and found
it in a white can of a set containing everything from tea to flour.
I guessed at the amount to put in the dripolator, poured the boiling
water in the top half, then went to the bathroom and found an electric
razor in the medicine cabinet.
Afterwards I braved the bedroom again and put on the clothes draped
neatly over a chair. They weren't my clothes, but they fit.
The woman chatted cheerfully. "I have so much to do today," she
said. "The Bridge Club meets here today. I can never stand that Mrs.
Chadwick, but I have to put up with her or give up Bridge. The laundry
will come back today, too. I wonder if Ralphs will have that brand of
caviar Edith said is so good?"
* * * * *
I didn't make any response, and she didn't seem to expect me to. I
was just someone to talk in the presence of. I was dressed. I touched
the wallet in the hip pocket of my trousers and wondered whose
identifications I would find in it.
I escaped to the kitchen again to find out, but the woman came after
me, putting on her bathrobe, continuing her line of chatter.
"Why don't you get the paper out of the hall, Dave?" she said suddenly.