“I wonder if we’re related? You—”
“He was my teacher at Central High,” said Jonathan Hughes, quickly.
“And still am,” said the old man. “And still am.”
And they were home.
He could not stop staring. All through dinner, the old man simply sat with his hands empty half the time and stared at the lovely woman across the table from him. Jonathan Hughes fidgeted, talked much too loudly to cover the silences, and ate sparsely. The old man continued to stare as if a miracle was happening every ten seconds. He watched Alice’s mouth as if it were giving forth fountains of diamonds. He watched her eyes as if all the hidden wisdoms of the world were there, and now found for the first time. By the look of his face, the old man, stunned, had forgotten why he was there.
“Have I a crumb on my chin?” cried Alice Hughes, suddenly. “Why is everyone watching me?”
Whereupon the old man burst into tears that shocked everyone. He could not seem to stop, until at last Alice came around the table to touch his shoulder.
“Forgive me,” he said. “It’s just that you’re so lovely. Please sit down. Forgive.”
They finished off the dessert and with a great display of tossing down his fork and wiping his mouth with his napkin, Jonathan Hughes cried, “That was fabulous. Dear wife, I love you!” He kissed her on the cheek, thought better of it, and rekissed her, on the mouth. “You see?” He glanced at the old man. “I very much love my wife.”
The old man nodded quietly and said, “Yes, yes, I remember.”
“You remember?” said Alice, staring.
“A toast!” said Jonathan Hughes, quickly. “To a fine wife, a grand future!” His wife laughed. She raised her glass. “Mr. Weldon,” said, after a moment. “You’re not drinking?...”
It was strange seeing the old man at the door to the living room.
“Watch this,” he said, and closed his eyes. He began to move certainly and surely about the room, eyes shut “Over here is the pipestand, over here the books. On the fourth shelf down a copy of Eiseley’s The Star Thrower. One shelf up H. G. Wells’s Time Machine, most appropriate, and over here the special chair, and me in it.”
He sat. He opened his eyes.
Watching from the door, Jonathan Hughes said, “You’re not going to cry again, are you?”
“No. No more crying.” There were sounds of washing up from the kitchen.
The lovely woman out there hummed under her breath. Both men turned to look out of the room toward that humming.
“Someday,” said Jonathan Hughes, “I will hate her? Someday, I will kill her?”
“It doesn’t seem possible, does it? I’ve watched her for an hour and found nothing, no hint, no clue, not the merest period, semicolon or exclamation point of blemish, bump, or hair out of place with her. I’ve watched you, too, to see if you were at fault, we were at fault, in all this.”
“And?” The young man poured sherry for both of them, and handed over a glass. “You drink too much is about the sum. Watch it.”
Hughes put his drink down without sipping it. “What else?”
“I suppose I should give you a list, make you keep it, look at it every day. Advice from the old crazy to the young fool.”
“Whatever you say, I’ll remember.”
“Will you? For how long? A month, a year, then, like everything else, it’ll go. You’ll be busy living. You’ll be slowly turning into... me. She will slowly be turning into someone worth putting out of the world. Tell her you love her.”
“Every day.”
“Promise! It’s that important! Maybe that’s where I felled myself, foiled us. Every day, without fail!” The old man leaned forward, his face taking fire with his words. “Every day. Every day!”
Alice stood in the doorway, faintly alarmed.
“Anything wrong?”
“No, no.” Jonathan Hughes smiled. “We were trying to decide which of us likes you best” She laughed, shrugged, and went away. “I think,” said Jonathan Hughes, and stopped and closed his eyes, forcing himself to say it, “it’s time for you to go.”