Hands... dan bailey He packed the bag with great care. Slowly each article shaving kit, books, clothing; each went in with the same rhythmic motion of those white hands. He must be deliberate; that, he had decided, was essential if he were to succeed. True, his hands didn't want to be methodical. They would much rather have been warm and vibrant with the emotion he felt, but such was not his plan. He had mentally cut off the circulation below his wrists, leaving two white, well-controlled machines, responding only to his rational and pla-tonic thought. He'd send for his large trunks containing the majority of his wardrobe later; all the things he needed now were packed in the two smaller bags he was taking with him. In the room there were only three things left, the hat and coat which he was going to wear and the picture. Whether he should take that picture or not he was undecided. Surely if he did it would bring back memories, even as it was doing now...... She was beautiful, there was no arguing that, and they had had some good times since their marriage, he and Helen. Maybe he was making a mistake in leaving her perhaps if he stayed they could come to an agreement that would make them both happy again. His cold hands ran over the pebble grain of the expensive leather picture frame, and as they touched the lips, they lingered, seeming to take warmth from the soft fire that had always been there. He looked at his hand, as it rested on the paper, and shuddered slightly. Hands were such revolting things. At times it was almost as if they could think for themselves and took a strange delight in defying their possessors. In fact, it had been the sight of Helen's hand on another man's arm that had made him decide he must leave her. He hadn't wanted to go to that party, and it had made Helen angry. So she left him when they arrived and went to find her pleasure with partners "who could at least be cheerful." He hadn't seen her again during the evening until on entering the library, he found her with a group of friends, gay and vibrant as she always was at parties. There was nothing romantic or even suggestive about her hand resting on the man's arm; it was apparently some kind of game the group had been playing. Nor was he her husband told himself as he walked away and out on to the terrace jealous. No such medieval emotion had entered his mind. It was just that he realized his wife didn't need him. To her it didn't matter whether he were lonely or not. There would always be somebody's arm that she could put her hand on. Indifference was so easy for her...... No, he decided, her picture must not go with him. The mere feel of the glossy surface carrying her image had started his own hand to shaking, and that wouldn't do. He must not let those five-legged monsters ruin his nerves. He must control them. If they trembled or showed the least sign of weakness when he met Helen, he could never go. Quickly he slipped the picture from the case and tore it to bits; then gathered his coat, hat, bags, and left the room. She was reading a fashion magazine when he entered the spacious living room. At once she came and kissed him on the cheek. He hoped for a moment that she meant that kiss, but as soon as her lips had touched his face she left his side to arrange a rumpled doilie on the top of the grand piano, speaking as she did so. "Dear, you're not even dressed, and I especially told you we were dining out this evening." "Helen, I've got to talk to you." "Now do be sensible. We're going to a formal banquet, and we can't be late. So go dress and you can tell me about it in the car." Somehow he had hoped she would treat him this way. He didn't have to control his hands by force. There's no need for me to dress I'm leaving tonight." Her eyelashes flicked in a brief arch of annoyance. "How completely selfish of you not to tell me before I accepted the engagement. Where, in heaven's name, do you have to go this time?" "We're through, Helen. I'm leaving tonight, for good." Slowly she turned to face her husband. In her eyes was what he had expected, surprise, but nothing more. "What on earth are you talking about?" "Just that I'm leaving. There is no need for you to i Continued on page 23) EIGHT Not That Kind... reed coray I listened to the band while I waited. They were playing one of those savage chants, and it fitted my mood. I had missed connections with Helen, the girl I was to have brought. She might have stood me up, but I didn't think so. You see, it was one of those college conventions with banquets and dances and meetings all crowded together. I had lost her at the banquet and had never seen her since. I thought I didn't give a damn. Then I saw her in the door and I knew that I did. Mort was with her good old Mort. He spotted me coming and headed my way. He was laughing at Helen. She looked mad she was one of those slim blondes that can draw themselves up and really look haughty. It developed that Mort had seen Helen looking lonesome in the lobby, and knowing I had a date with her, had asked her where I was. She was sore even then but he brought her anyway. I thanked him and gave him the tenth dance. She thanked Mort as we started to dance away. She didn't speak to me. I told her I was sorry that I had missed her. She said she was sure that I was in that way of hers. There was one of those dead silences between us. I said, "Nice night." Sarcastic again, "It's lovely," she said and looked around the crowd. She was stiff and cold in my arms. "Relax," I said, and I meant it. "What?' she asked as though she didn't understand. Then I was sore too. I concentrated on dancing; I've never been very good. I stepped on her foot and wished somebody would cut in. Somebody did. As I said, it was one of those college conventions. All of the out-of-town boys were stag, some of them were drunk. Most of them were looking for a girl to woo after the dance. They stood in a bunch in the middle of the floor and looked the girls over. Some of the girls looked back. Those were the ones they took. A smooth, good-looking boy tagged me. He was a big shot at the convention, national representative-elect or something; I wandered over to a corner and sat down to think. Why did I fool around with this girl? Before I met her, I was anti-social, but happy. Out of her social spirit, she had taken me over to see if it could be done. For about a week she concentrated on me. It was like shooting rabbits. She taught me how to dance a little. She showed me a few of the things I did wrong. For a while it was fine. This was something new for her and something wonderful for me. When I didn't learn all the answers, she soon got bored. In three months I was one of the five boys who took her out most. So here I was still hanging around, and she was only fooling around with me now. I was a thing accomplished; she was looking for new worlds to conquer-. I decided to forget it and have a good time. I danced with a girl from California, but not for long. She couldn't follow me either; it's an art. I was glad when I got tagged. I left the dance and went down to Joe's place. Business there was slack. Sitting at the counter, I nursed a coke while one waitress told the other about the salesman she'd been out with he night before. Somebody over in the corner was feeding money to the nickelodeon. The strains of "Stardust" caught me. I thought of things that were past and forgot my coke. Then it hit up "Scatterbrain," so I left. When I got back the air in the dance seemed hot and sticky. I stood by the door and watched. Another fellow was standing there. I guess he knew Helen well. He was a stranger to me. "Helen's sure fallen for that boy she's with," he said in a confidential tone. "Yeah," I said and wondered what he meant. Then I saw her out on the floor. She was dancing with the boy who had tagged me first. "Yeah," my new friend continued."He's from Kemper. When I was dancing with her she said she thought he was wonderful." "Thanks," I said and walked out on the floor. I think he missed my sarcasm. I cut in on the boy from Kemper. He looked insulted but he didn't argue. We danced for a minute in silence. I sensed that Helen wasn't sore any more. There were bigger projects afoot. (Continued on page 20) NINE