Death Trap Read Online Free PDF Page A

lifted her chin. “Don’t get stupid ideas from that kind of weakness, Hugh. I’m vulnerable right now.”
    I hit my fist on the packing case. “Skip all that. Forget all that. Maybe it’s conscience. It probably is. Is that such a bad thing? I want to help you. What are you going to do? Where are you going?”
    “I—I thought I’d go up and be near him until—” She twisted her face away, then covered her face with her hands. Then came the small, lost, stifled sound of tears. I sat there awkwardly until I could stand it no longer and then I went over and sat beside her and tried to touch her on the shoulder, turn her into my arms. She moved violently away from me. Then she got up quickly, hiding her face, and left the room, going into the other part of the apartment. I stood up, knowing I could not leave. I looked around. They had apparently used the conservatory as a living-room. Out the back windows I could see two cars parked in the rear of the house, a high old Dodge, and a Chevy coupé about five years old. I heard water running. I waited for a time and then began to pack the rest of the books.
    It must have been ten minutes later that she spoke, standing behind me. “Please don’t do that. Please go, Hugh. I mean it.”
    I had been trying to think of some way to tell her. I stood up and turned and said, “I’ll go. But please let me do one thing.”
    “No.”
    “It’s a very simple thing. It won’t cost you anything. I want you to sit over there beside me and I want to be able to hold your hand and I want to talk to you for maybe ten minutes. You don’t have to say anything.”
    “No.”
    “Please, Vicky. I’m begging you. I’m asking you very humbly. Please.”
    “All right.”
    She sat primly. She extended her hand to me with as much warmth as though she were reaching it out to touch nastiness. I took it in both of mine. It was cool, dry and utterly flaccid. And I did not know how to start.
    “Listen,” I said. “I’ve been in Spain. I’ve worked with those people. I like them. They’ve got pride. They’ve got self-respect. And a kind of passionate honesty. There was this boy, Felipe. A village boy. We taught him to drive a truck. After we started paving we put him on one of the big mixers. He was bright and quick. He took a lot of pride in how fast he could work the controls, drop the scoop and so on. When he came to work with us, he came with his best friend, Raoul. Raoul wasn’t too bright. He wasn’t good around equipment. He was tough and strong and willing, but he didn’t fit into the machine age.
    “Listen to what happened. There are guards, metal guards, where the big scoop comes down. So nobody can walk under the scoop from the side, by accident. But somebody could walk in from the front. So we have a mirror rigged. The operator is supposed to glance in the mirror before dropping the scoop. It comes down fast and hard. It weighs maybe a ton and a half. But on the job , the mirror gets coated with dust, and the operator ignores it.
    “Felipe was running the mixer, full of pride. Raoul walked under from the front. Felipe dropped the scoop on him. He lived for two days and then died. Felipe was with him every minute of the two days and with him when he died. The next day I caught Felipe just in time. He’d wound wire around his arm as a crude tourniquet. He had an ax from stores. He was about to take his right hand off at the wrist. The right hand was the one on the control that drops the scoop. It was an infantile reaction. It was a stupid thing to try to do. It was remorse. And grief. I stopped him.”
    Her hand stirred in mine. I could not look at her face. “I don’t understand.”
    “I couldn’t cut my heart out, Vicky. I couldn’t go backward in time and mend things. I know there are things you can never mend. I’ll just tell you this. I’ve been ashamed. For three years. I’m not the person I was then. I’ve thought of you for three years. Sometimes I’ve