Benny walked down the steps, and, after a bit, I could hear him rustling around in the kitchen. Glasses rattled, a door closed, there were steps, and then water started running. He was still singing to himself, but now it was a different song, one about a four-leaf clover. I guess Benny listened to a lot of radio.
The water turned off. Something metallic squealed. Steps retreated from the kitchen, back towards the study I thought. A chair squeaked. And Benny’s singing became louder.
I decided the kitchen door that I had left unlocked was my best play to get out of the house. I eased myself down the steps as slowly and as quietly as I could. One step groaned when I put weight on it, and I froze, but Benny didn’t stop singing. After a minute or so, I moved on down another step. Step by step and minute by minute, I made my way to the bottom of the stairs.
I sat there and listened. Benny wasn’t singing any more, and I couldn’t be sure where he was. I stood and carefully pushed on the wooden door that separated the stairs from the kitchen and opened it a crack. Wherever Benny was, he wasn’t anywhere I could see. I pushed the door open a little more and more of the kitchen and some of the hall came into view.
I looked through that little sliver and realized that once I opened the door and stepped into the kitchen, I would be visible to anyone in the hall. And since I would have to turn my back to the hall to open the kitchen door, someone could come up behind me without me seeing them. I didn’t like that. Quietly I begged Benny to sing again.
I looked at my watch. It was past time for me to be gone.
I stood there and thought some more. I was sure I could outrun Benny if it came to it. But that wouldn’t matter if he had a pistol and could use it. And I didn’t know if he carried a rod or not, but I had to figure that he did and that he could handle it. Since he would be coming at me from behind, I couldn’t get the odds good enough to take a chance. So, I just stood there, silently pleading with Benny to sing, while listening for anything that might let me know where he was.
I needed a cigarette and a drink of water but didn’t move. The minutes marched along as I kept watch over that little sliver of Blinder’s kitchen and hall. I cursed the caution that had kept me in that stairway far longer than it would have taken me to get out of the house and back to my car. But I fought the voice that told me to take my chances now.
And then Benny finally moved. I heard the chair squeak again, and I heard his footsteps coming down the hall, and then I could see him. He walked into the kitchen with an empty glass in his hand. He passed by the door and out of my view. I heard him walk to the sink and fill the glass with water. He stood there and drank. I could hear every swallow. He put the glass on the counter and walked out of the kitchen and back down the hall.
He must have gone into the dining room. I heard a chair scrape across the floor, and I heard a chair whimper, and I could picture Benny settling all his bulk into one of those little chairs at the table. Newspaper rustled. And rustled again. I was happy for the noise. And then he started singing.
I held my breath and pushed the door open. Slowly. And all the while, sounds continued to flow from the dining room. I stepped out of the stairway into the kitchen, padded silently to the door, turned the handle gently, and pulled. The door didn’t move.
I looked at the lock. The iron bar was back in place, and I remembered the metal squeal I had heard the first time Benny was in the kitchen. Now he was singing, and I let out a long string of silent curses.
Papers rustled again and Benny reached the refrain of the four-leaf clover song and was singing quite loudly. I tried to open the lock.
It didn’t want to move. And I didn’t want to force it. Instead, I pulled at it slowly, with a steady pressure.
It squealed. And I stopped.
But Benny kept singing.
I don’t why I didn’t just yank that damn lock open, bust out of the door, and run like hell for the hedge. My chances might have been pretty good. I don’t know. Benny would have been surprised and maybe confused. I would be a moving target and could be pretty far down the walk before Benny even got out of the house. But I didn’t. Instead, I had an idea about lard or oil or grease. I was in a kitchen, after all.
I was looking in cupboards, listening to Benny shuffle papers and sing, when I heard the distant grumble of Blinder’s gate opening.
Benny heard it, too. Papers fell, a chair scrapped back, and footsteps started down the hall.
I made it back into the stairway and closed the door in time to watch Benny walk past the kitchen, towards the tower hall. A door opened, and Benny called out, “Addison!”
Lettres d'un Inconnu 