Nightfall Read Online Free PDF Page B

something around his eyes,” John said.
      “Why bother?” Sam said. “This is the last stop.”
      “Don't talk like that,” Vanning said. “You make me feel blue.”
      “Bring your hand over here,” Pete said. He was handing a large breastpocket handkerchief, folding it over, folding it again, then winding it around Vanning's head, drawing it tightly, knotting it.
      “That's too tight,” Vanning said.
      “That's too bad,” Pete said.
      The car had stopped. They were getting out. They were taking Vanning across some sort of field. He could feel high grass brushing up against his ankles. Then the high grass gave way to hard-packed soil and it went on that way for a few minutes, and then they were walking up steps that had to be wood because there was considerable creaking. After that the sound of a key in a lock, the sound of a door opening, the feeling of entering a large room, going through the room with big hands pushing him, holding him back, pushing him again. Now a stairway, a long climb, and now a corridor, and then another door opening, and the sound of a wall switch and light getting through the fabric that covered his eyes. He was working his lips toward a smile. He managed to build the smile. There was some fatalism in it, and a trace of defiance. And underneath the smile he was terribly frightened.

4

          Lavender light came down on a purplish river. There was a huge ferry boat crammed with people. The ferry had shut off its power and was floating toward the wharf when suddenly a monster wave came from noplace and hit the ferry on starboard and knocked it over on its back. And there were no people to be seen. Only the ferry floating on its back. And the river, calm again. And Fraser twisted his face against the pillow and let out a groan. He opened his eyes. He closed them again, opened them again and saw his wife sitting up beside him, looking at him.
      “You're all worked up,” she said.
      “What was I doing?”
      “Making noise.”
      “Did I say anything?”
      “I couldn't make it out. Can I get you something?”
      “No,” Fraser said. “Just put on the light.”
      She switched on a lamp at the bedside. Fraser blinked and rubbed his eyes. He reached toward a table near his side of the bed, fumbled with a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches. She didn't want a cigarette. She wanted him to go back to sleep. Lighting his cigarette, he got out of bed, walked to the window and looked out. The East River was glimmering black pitch and the lights were points of spears lancing a smoldering night.
      He took several short puffs at the cigarette. “I can't get it out of my mind.”
      “You should be on time and a half for overtime,” she said. “You work twenty-four hours a day.”
      “Not always.”
      “Want a drink of water?”
      “I can get it.”
      “Let me get it.”
      She climbed out of bed, and Fraser was alone in the room and he wanted to get dressed and leave the apartment. He was putting on his socks when she came back with the water. She let him finish the water and then she picked up his shoes and took them back to the closet.
      “Take off your socks,” she said, “and stop the nonsense.”
      “I feel like doing something.”
      “On what basis?”
      “I don't know,” Fraser said.
      “I wish you'd get yourself a job in Wall Street. Keep this up and you'll be gray in no time.”
      She sat down beside him on the edge of the bed. She put a hand on his shoulder. For a while they sat there quietly, then Fraser got up and walked to his dresser. He opened the top drawer of the dresser and took out a brown paper portfolio and began extracting paraphernalia. He stood there at the dresser, studying various papers.
      This went on for