Kate Wilhelm - Hounds

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The Hounds

by Kate Wilhelm

First published in A Shocking Thing, ed. Damon Knight, 1974

ROSE ELLEN KNEW that Martin had been laid off, had known it for over a week, but she had waited

for him to tell her. She watched him get out of the car on Friday, and she said to herself, "Now he's

ready. He's got a plan and he'll tell me what we're going to do, and it'll be all right." There was more

relief in her voice, that was in her mind only, than she had thought possible. Why, I've been scared, she

thought, in wonder, savoring the feeling now that there was no longer any need to deny it. She knew

Martin was ready by the way he left the car. He was a thin intense man, not very tall, five nine. When

worried, or preoccupied, or under pressure, he seemed to lose all his coordination. He bumped into

furniture, moved jerkily, upsetting things within reach, knocked over coffee cups, glasses. And he forgot

to turn things off: water, lights, the car engine once. He had a high domed forehead, thin hair the color of

wet sand, and now, after twelve years at the cape, a very deep burned-in suntan. He was driven by a

nervous energy that sought release through constant motion. He always had a dozen projects under way:

refinishing furniture, assembling a stereo system, designing a space lab model, breeding toy poodles,

raising hydroponic vegetables. All his projects turned out well. All were one-man efforts. This afternoon

his motion was fluid as he swung his legs out of the car, followed through with a smooth movement, then

slammed the door hard. His walk was jaunty as he came up the drive and around the canary date palm

to where she waited at the poolside bar. Rose Ellen was in a bikini, although the air was a bit too cool,

and she wouldn't dream of swimming yet. But the sun felt good when the wind died down, and she knew

she looked as good in the brief red strips as she had looked fifteen or even twenty years ago. She saw

herself reflected in his eyes, not actually, but his expression told her that he was seeing her again. He

hadn't for the whole week.

He didn't kiss her; they never kissed until they were going to make love. He patted her bottom and

reached for the cocktail shaker. He shook it once, then poured and sat down, still looking at her

approvingly.

"You know," he said.

"What, honey? I know what?" Her relief put a lilt in her voice, made her want to sing.

"And you've known all along. Well, okay, here's to us."

"Are you going to tell me what it is that I've known all along, or are you just going to sit there looking

enigmatic as hell and pleased, and slightly sousled?" She leaned over him, looking into his eyes, sniffing.

"And how long ago did you leave the office?"

"Noon. Little after. I didn't go back after lunch. I got the can, last Thursday." He put his glass down and

pulled her to his lap. "And I don't care."

"May they all rot in hell," Rose Ellen said. "You! You've been there longer than almost anyone. And

when they come to you beggin' you to come back, tell them to go to hell. Right?"

"Well, I don't think they'll come begging for me," Martin said, but he was pleased with himself. The

worry was gone, and the circles under his eyes seemed less dark, although he still hadn't slept. Rose

Ellen pushed herself away from him slightly in order to see him better.

"Anyway, you can get a job up in Jacksonville tomorrow. They know that, don't they? That you'll not be

available if they let you go."

"Honey, they aren't Machiavellian, you know. The agency doesn't want to break up our team, but they

had no choice, no money, no appropriation for more money. We did what they hired us to do. Now it's

over. Let's go to bed."

"Uh-uh! Not until you tell me what's making you grin like that. "

"Right. Look, doll, I'm forty-nine. And laid off. You know what the story is for the other guys who've

had this happen. No luck. No job. Nothing. It wouldn't be any different with me, honey. You have to

accept that."

She kissed his nose and stood up, hands on hips, studying him. "You! You're better than all the others

put together. You know you are. You told me yourself a hundred times."

"Honey, I'm forty-nine. No one hires men who are forty-nine."

"Martin, stop this! I won't have it. You're a young man. Educated! My God, you've got degrees nobody

ever even heard of. You've got education you've never even used yet."

He laughed and poured his second martini. She knew it pleased him for her to get indignant on his

behalf. "I know what I'm talking about, honey. Simmer down, and listen. Okay?" She sat down again, on

a stool on the other side of the bar, facing him. A tight feeling had come across her stomach, like the

feeling she used to get just before the roller coaster started to go down the last, wildest drop. "I don't

want another job, Rose. I've had it with jobs. I want to buy a farm."

She stared at him. He said it again, "We could do it, honey. We could sell the house and with the money

left after we pay off the mortgage, the car, the other things, there'd be enough for a small farm. Ten,

twenty acres. Not on the coast. Inland. West Virginia. Or Kentucky. I could get a job teaching. I

wouldn't mind that.

"Martin? Martin! Stop. It's not funny. It isn't funny at all. Don't go on like this." Her playfulness

evaporated leaving only the tight feeling.

"You bet your sweet ass it isn't funny. And I'm serious, Rose. Dead serious."

"A farm! What on earth would I do on the farm? What about the kids?"

"We can work out all those things...."

"Not now, Martin. I have to go get Juliette. Later, later." She ran into the house without looking back at

him. Bad strategy, she thought at herself dressing. She should have gone to bed with him, and then

talked him out of his crazy notion. That's all it was, a crazy notion. He was as scared as she was. He

could get a job in Jacksonville. He could. It wasn't a bad drive. He could come home weekends, if he

didn't want to drive it every day, although some people did. She thought about the house payments, and

the insurance, and the pool maintenance, and the yard people, and the housecleaning woman who came

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Kate Wilhelm - Hounds

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