Deep Water by Patricia Highsmith (romance novel chinese novels .txt) 📗

bubble as De Lisle's head went under. Vic had him under the chin and by one shoulder now, and unconsciously he tugged him toward where the water was over Vic's head, though it was easy to keep his own head above the surface because of De Lisle's threshing efforts to rise under his hands. Vic made a scissorlike movement with his legs and caught both De Lisle's thighs between his calves. Vic's head went under as he tipped backward, but his hands kept their grip and he pulled himself forward and rose again. De Lisle was still under.

       It's a joke, Vic thought to himself. If he were to let him up now, it would be merely a joke, though perhaps a rough one, but just then De Lisle's efforts grew violent, and Vic concentrated his own effort, one hand on the back of De Lisle's neck now, his other hand holding De Lisle's wrist away from him under the water. De Lisle's free hand was ineffectual against Vic's grip on the back of his neck. One of De Lisle's feet broke the surface of the water, then disappeared.

       Suddenly Vic was aware of the placidity of the water around him, of the soundlessness all around him. It was as if his ears had gone dead. Vic relaxed his grip somewhat, though he still held De Lisle under. Vic looked around the lawn, at the house, the terrace. I le saw no one, but he suddenly realized—almost objectively, with no sense of shock—that he hadn't made absolutely sure that there had been no one on the terrace or on the lawn before he pulled I )e Lisle under. He still held the faintly buoyant shoulders under, not really able to believe yet that he was dead or even completely unconscious.

       It's a joke, Vic thought again. But now it was too late for it to be a joke, and even as that came to his mind like a piece of news he realized that he'd have to say that De Lisle must have got an attack of cramp while he was dressing himself on the lawn, and that he hadn't seen or heard anything of it. Vic tentatively released the shoulders. The back of De Lisle's head came up a little above the water, but his face stayed down.

       Vic climbed out of the pool. He walked directly toward the gardenia bush and began to change his clothes. He heard voices and laughter from the kitchen at the end of the house. He hurried into his toga, flinging it around him with the movement he had practiced at home, then started for the back door of the kitchen, which opened on the lawn.

       They were all in the kitchen, Melinda, Evelyn and Phil, Horace and Mary, but only Evelyn greeted him as he went in.

       "How about a sandwich and some coffee, Vic?" Evelyn asked him.

       "I could use some coffee," Vic said.

       Phil was pouring a cup of coffee and Melinda was standing near him, groggily assembling a ham sandwich and murmuring something about her headache still being with her. As Vic stood leaning against the sink, the atmosphere seemed almost oppressively like the atmosphere of dozens of other ends-of-parties he had known—the hosts in the kitchen with the handful of people who had lingered on, the handful of people who were completely at ease, because they knew one another very well, and because everybody was in a relaxed and easy mood, due to the lateness of the hour and the liquor they had drunk. And at the same time Vic felt absolutely certain that everything that was said or done now was going to be discussed and rediscussed later, and argued about: Evelyn trying to resume a story she had evidently started before he came in about meeting somebody, an old friend, at the Goat-and-Candle, whose little boy had had a strange heart operation. Horace endeavoring to listen. And Phil now handing him a cup of coffee, saying, “Here you are, Vic. Sugar?" And Evelyn interrupting, "What about 'me'?" meaning she wanted coffee, too. And Melinda saying, with her morning-after despair already upon her, "My God, what did I do to deserve this 'booming' headache?" to no one in particular, yet in such a booming voice that Evelyn got up and went to her. "Honey, have you still got it? Why don't you try one of those wonderful yellow pills I've got? They'll do it, I know"

       Melinda walked half across the kitchen when Evelyn left the room to get the yellow pills, and Vic thought she was going to follow her, but she turned completely around again. "Where's Charley?"

       Vic said, "He's still swimming."

       "'Swimming'?" Melinda said in an incredulous tone.

       "Well, he was still in when I left him," Vic said.

       Melinda started to go out on the lawn, then stopped in the doorway, swung herself outward holding to the doorjamb, and yelled, "Charley! Come on in!" She came back in herself without waiting for an answer.

       Then very quickly Evelyn was back, Melinda swallowed the pill, and immediately went to the door again and called, "Charley!" then went out to get him.

       And Vic saw Phil and Evelyn exchange a look and a smile, because Melinda was so concerned tonight with Charley. Phil picked up a sandwich and took a bite.

       Then they heard a scream, "'Vic!'" Melinda shrieked. "'Phil!'" They ran out, Phil ahead, then Vic and Horace. Melinda was standing, helpless, on the edge of the pool.

       "'He's drowned!'" Melinda said.

       Phil took off his jacket and jumped in. Vic had a glimpse of Phil's grim, pale face as he turned toward them, dragging Charley. Vic took one arm, Horace the other, and they hauled Charley out. "Do you—" Phil began, gasping, "do you know anything about artificial respiration?"

       "A little," Vic said. He was already turning Charley face down, putting the right hand under his cheek, extending the other arm upward. Melinda