“We can only stay a minute,” I said. “We just came to say good-by. We wanted to come last night. We intended to come, but we were too tired after the trip.”
“Go get some wine,” Fontan said.
“There is no wine. You drank it all up.”
Fontan looked very upset.
“I’ll go get some,” he said. “I’ll just be gone a few minutes. I drank it up last night. We had it for you.”
“I knew you were tired. ‘My God,’ I said, ‘they’re too tired all right to come,’” Madame Fontan said. “Go get some wine, Fontan.”
“I’ll take you in the car,” I said.
“All right,” Fontan said. “That way we’ll go faster.”
We drove down the road in the motor-car and turned up a side road about a mile away.
“You’ll like that wine,” Fontan said. “It’s come out well. You can drink it for supper tonight.”
We stopped in front of a frame house. Fontan knocked on the door. There was no answer. We went around to the back. The back door was locked too. There were empty tin cans around the back door. We looked in the window. There was nobody inside. The kitchen was dirty and sloppy, but all the doors and windows were tight shut.”
“That son of a bitch. Where is she gone out?” Fontan said. He was desperate.
“I know where I can get a key,” he said. “You stay here.” I watched him go down to the next house down the road, knock on the door, talk to the woman who came out, and finally come back. He had a key. We tried it on the front door and the back, but it wouldn’t work.
“That son of a bitch,” Fontan said. “She’s gone away somewhere.”
Looking through the window I could see where the wine was stored. Close to the window you could smell the inside of the house. It smelled sweet and sickish like an Indian house. Suddenly Fontan
