Samedi the Deafness by Jesse Ball

so far escaped him. Also, there was a clear-cut distinction between the House Proper and the Hospital, although their rooms mingled. Evidently James had crossed from the one into the other, and had thus gone foul.

    —Tonight, said James in the quiet of his room, I will read this manual from beginning to end. I will have no such troubles again.

    And also he thought that perhaps it was true that McHale had been mad. Perhaps the Samedi threat had nothing to do with these people.

    There was the newspaper on James's side table. The note, of course, was there, which James had had read to him in the car. There were other articles, however, that were of interest.

    James picked it up and began to read. It seemed that the government had stepped up their attempts to catch this Samedi. They had caught three men and two women, all having some connection. Of these, they had managed to make none speak, three having committed suicide in jail, one escaping from a closed cell, and the fifth, a woman, not responding verbally to any address whatsoever. There had been many others they had caught who, after questioning it was soon realized, had nothing whatever to do with the threat.

    The suicides and arrests had made the police even more apprehensive, and had cemented the threat as a real possibility. Cameras had been set up to watch possible mail drops. The government was, the newspaper assured James, doing all that it could to protect its populace.

    Meanwhile there were many theories on what the reprisal would be. Some thought a dirty atomic device. Others supposed anthrax or some kind of manufactured virus.

    There was a knock. A moment later, two knocks.

    Maid service, thought James.

    —Come in, he said.

 

    The Visit of Grieve, Part 3

    It was not the maid. Instead, Grieve. That is to say, Lily Violet.

    —Hey, you! she said, and kissed him on the cheek. So you finally got here!

    She had two suitcases. They were James's suitcases.

    —I stopped by your house, she said, and got the rest of your

    things.

    —You what? said James.

    —Got your things, said Grieve. I thought you would need them.

    She put the suitcases by the wardrobe, and then sat heavily in the cushioned chair. She looked rather nice.

    —Well, I'm tired out. So, what do you think?

    —What do I think? asked James.

    —Of the place. What do you think? Isn't it nice?

    James said that the place was indeed nice but a bit strange, and he wasn't sure he really understood why he had been brought and also that it seemed to him it was her fault, but maybe not, and what had been the reason for the rubber mask, and also perhaps it would be possible for her to arrange that he speak with her father.

    Grieve laughed when he said this last.

    —You can't just speak with him, you know. It doesn't work like that.

    —No? he asked.

    —No, she said. He's very busy, but busy in a different way than you might think. He's not to be approached, not to be asked questions. If he has something to say to you, he will. Certainly he will ask you about McHale, and maybe about your work. He is intrigued by mnemonists, so you have that in your favor.

    Grieve stood up, walked over to the bed, and jumped onto it.

    —Not bad, she said. I've never been in this room.

    She stood up again.

    —I'm going to go and have supper. But perhaps I'll stop by again later on.

    —I never got my supper, said James. I tried to, but it didn't work out.

    —Hmmm, said Grieve. Well, you can have something sent up, I suppose. I would invite you to come with me, but it just wouldn't do.

    She thought about it a moment.

    —No, it just wouldn't do. You'll have to work something else out. She smiled.

    —Anyway, I'll drop in unannounced. I always do.

    James was leaning against the wall with his arms drawn up in front of him. She leaned in and kissed him on the mouth.

    —Isn't it nice being here? she asked, and was gone.

    A Visit from Grandfather

    —James, he said. Come out of there.

    —No,