The Cat's Pajamas by Ray Bradbury Page A

California and had found her in the kitchen of his grandmother’s house and whirled her around, laughing and embracing her. She smiled with the thought. It was a good thought. And now, fifteen years after that, him a big Hollywood writer on his way to the opening of his play in New York. And in the mail six months ago his first published book, and yesterday the letter saying he would stop to see her. She hadn’t slept very well last night.
    â€œNo white man’s worth all this,” said Linda. “I’m goin’ home.”
    â€œYou sit down,” commanded Susan.
    â€œI don’t want to be here when he don’t show up,” said Linda. “I’ll phone you later.” She walked to the door and opened it.
    â€œCome back here and sit down,” said Susan. “He’ll be here any minute.”
    Linda stood with the door half open. She shut it and waited a minute, leaning silently against it, shaking her head.
    â€œThere’s a yellow cab comin’ up the hill now,” called Susan, bent to the cold windowpane. “I bet he’s in it!”
    â€œYou’ll be poor by mornin’.”
    They waited.
    â€œOh,” said Susan, blinking.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThat fool cab turned down the other way.”
    â€œI bet he’s just sittin’ down there in the lounge car, drinkin’ a drink. I bet he’s in with a bunch of other men an’ can’t get away, afraid to tell them what he wants to do in a small town, take a cab an’ come up to see some colored woman friend of his.”
    â€œHe ain’t doin’ that. He’s in a taxi now. I know .”
    Ten minutes and then fifteen passed.
    â€œHe should be here by now,” said Susan.
    â€œHe ain’t.”
    â€œMaybe that ain’t the train; maybe the clock’s wrong.”
    â€œWant me to phone ‘time’ for you?”
    â€œGet away from that phone!” cried Susan.
    â€œAll right, all right, I just thought .”
    â€œYou just thought, you thought, get away!” She raised her hand and her face was twisted.
    They waited once more. The clock ticked.
    â€œYou know what I’d do if I was you?” said Linda. “I’d go right down to that train an’ get on an’ say ’Where’s Mr. Borden?’ an’ I’d hunt till I found him, an’ there he’d be, I bet, with all his friends in the lounge car, drinkin’, an’ I’d walk up to him an’ say, ‘Looky here, Richard Borden, I knew you when you was all damp! You said you was comin’ to see me! Why didn’t you?’ That’s what I’d say, right in front of those men friends of his!”
    Susan said nothing. It was seven thirty-five. In ten more minutes the train would be pulling out again. He’s delayed, she thought. He has to come up. He’s not that sort.
    â€œWell, Mom, I’m goin’ home. I’ll phone later.”
    This time she did not try to stop Linda. The door shut. Her footsteps faded away down the hall.
    With her away, Susan felt better. She felt that now with the evil influence of her child gone, Richard Borden must certainly arrive. He had just been waiting for Linda to leave, so they could be alone!
    He’s down there somewhere, she thought, on that train. Her heart sickened. What if he was in the club car now, drinking, as Linda said? No! Maybe he forgot, maybe he didn’t even know this was his hometown! Some mistake, the porter’s forgot to call, or something. She twisted her hands together. Sitting down there in the warm club car, drinking. Sitting down there in the nighttime after fifteen years. All the yellow bright lights on the train, the slow steam rising. Come on, Richard! You don’t come, I’ll tell your mama! Her breathing was deep and heavy. She felt very old. You don’t come in a minute, I’ll do what Linda said, come down an’ speak right up to you!
    No.