“Nice place!” said Altinger. “Nice place!” He was not still a moment, walking up and down and around the room, looking at books, glancing out of the windows, inspecting furnishing and ornament with quick and knowledgeable glances. “You had a lucky landing young Jorgensen!”
“They say you are mending rapidly?” asked Bjornstrom, and took a delicate pinch of snuff.
“Nils, my poor boy!” said Carolyn Van Teller from the chair by the bed. “You must have had a simply dreadful time!”
Otto felt a dull, sick aching in his stomach: the newspaper, neatly folded now, lay upon the table near his hand. He could not see the headlines, nor the pictures which he knew would be upon the inner pages—but he could
“Yes, I was very lucky. . . . I think that is right, Mr. Bjornstrom. . . . It was bad, yes. But it might have been worse.”
Altinger was standing in the bay window now, staring out through the trees. He drew a deep breath of the soft air and exhaled it noisily. He said:
“Great country! Wonderful country!”
“God’s country,” said old Bjornstrom—and suddenly, dreadfully, giggled.
“These people have been good to you, Nils?” Carolyn Van Teller took a cigarette from her case and lit it and watched him through the smoke.
“Yes,” Otto said. “Yes. Very good.” He had himself well in hand now, and his tone was correct—neither flat nor enthusiastic.
Altinger crossed the room with his lunging walk and stood by the foot of the bed.
“How long before you’re fit for work?” he said. “We miss you. You’ve done a good job. Too bad you got yourself involved in that smash-up.”
Old Bjornstrom giggled again, and Carolyn Van Teller said: “Gunnar! You’re like a child!”
The old man took out his snuff-box and was silent.
Otto was increasingly conscious of the sick aching in his stomach. He had to do something, anything to break the spell of growing horror which, if he lay inert and let it, would betray him. He reached out an arm, with a gesture whose violence he tried desperately to conceal, towards the table beside the bed. His hand, groping for cigarettes, struck against the folded newspaper and sent it toppling to the floor, carrying with it the little vase of flowers which just now Clare had set there.
“Clumsy!” said Carolyn Van Teller, and smiled at him.
“Oops there!” said Altinger, and came quickly to retrieve.
“Tsk-tsk!” From his chair, old Bjornstrom made distressful clucking noises. “Too bad, too bad!”
Otto closed his eyes. He was suddenly afraid that one of them—that the woman—would see the hatred which was bubbling inside him. And he must not let it show. He had not known how violent it would be. He must not let it show. He felt the woman lean nearer to him, and her hand gentle upon his arm. She said:
“Headache?” Her voice was very low. “Poor Nils!”
“There!” said Altinger, and set the vase back upon the table and rubbed the spilt water from it into the thickness of the carpet with his shoe.
Otto opened his eyes: he was ready. He looked at Carolyn Van Teller and smiled. He said, as if he had forgotten there were others in the room:
“Your hair is beautiful. I had forgotten.”
She looked at him and her eyes were soft. Altinger stooped to pick up the newspaper and as he did so it came open in his hand and the black headlines stared out. He said:
“Amazing thing, that Texas oil fire! Can’t understand it!” His tone, natural enough to pass muster with any outsider, rang in Otto’s ears with a deep and self-laudatory undertone of triumph.
“A dreadful thing!” said Bjornstrom. His squeaky voice was hushed but the faded eyes were bright.
“Why talk about it, then?” The woman’s voice was imperious, and all three men looked at her and were silent. She picked her handbag from the table and opened it. She said:
“We must be moving on—mustn’t we, Rudolph?”
Altinger looked at his watch and uttered a sound of surprise which was very slightly overdone. He was resenting an order, however much disguised. He said:
“I’d no idea it was so late!” He moved nearer to the bed and leaned over it, holding out his hand to Otto. “Well—so long, young Jorgensen, hurry and come back to the office: business is booming!”
Otto took the hand and managed to shake it limply. He said:
“Thank you for the visiting.” He knew he should say more and covered up his search for words by a pretence at weakness, closing his eyes for a moment. “I will be back at work soon,” he said at last.
“That is good!” said Bjornstrom. He had heaved himself slowly out of his chair and was approaching the bed. Otto was forced to shake his hand too. It felt dry and old and brittle.
Carolyn Van Teller stood up. She looked very tall, seeming to tower over the men. She laid a small, gaily tied package upon the bed near Otto’s hand and then took the hand in both of her own. Bjornstrom moved away a little and Altinger completely: Otto could see neither of them She said to Otto:
“I didn’t know what to bring you. And then I saw a box of the cigarettes you used to like.”