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diff --git a/75924-0.txt b/75924-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..64c5a03 --- /dev/null +++ b/75924-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6860 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75924 *** + + + + + + + +[Illustration: Title page] + + + + LABYRINTH + + _A Novel_ + + + BY + + GERTRUDE DIAMANT + + + + PUBLISHED IN NEW YORK BY + COWARD-MCCANN, INC. + IN THE YEAR 1929 + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1929, BY + COWARD-MCCANN, INC. + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + + _Printed in the U. S. A._ + + + + +CHAPTER I + +There are times when the city is mysterious ... a city remembered +from ancient times, something for the conqueror to desire. He has +fields and gardens and wide rivers running between the hills; but he +looks toward the city and longs for it, he marshals his soldiers in +bright array, for they are going to woo the city. The mystery of +tall buildings panelled with sky, buildings whose surface is a +multitude of window-eyes which are void of pupil, except when the sun +shines on them and they blaze with a momentary glance; or when they +are lighted at night and look out with myriad pin-points of vision. +The city that is a magician's box. He has taken squares and squares +more than anyone can count and craftily arranged them until there are +cubes, and devised it so intricately that the people are trapped in a +labyrinth of cubes, and move incessantly within them but cannot +escape. + +No one can fathom this endless repetition of cubes, or the manner in +which they are contained within each other, or the lives of the +people that are trapped in them. It is like a pattern that repeats +itself forever, that cannot stop ... forever drawn on by the +compulsion of its own lines. Only when there is a flaw in the +pattern can one see it, when the eye can halt a moment, looking +profoundly at a slight imperfect detail ... a beggar motionless in +the crowded street, who turns to look after each one that goes by, +his head like a queer pendulum ticking off every person that passes. +Or it may be that while waiting on the elevated platform and looking +into the tenements, someone sees the doll which the little girl who +lives there has laid to sleep. It is all wrapped up in a blanket and +slumbers near the window, against the trembling pane, against the +wind of the trains. In the busy city it has a still infinitesimal +being, like something in the woods that lives its life curled up in a +leaf, and is not aware of its dying. + +Though it has a long and devious way to the tops of the buildings, +smoke curls out in the same primitive arabesque by which it lifted +itself from the earth ... the tiny white plume that dances on the +tips of the skyscrapers the same steps that it danced from the earth. +Even the sky reveals its secret kinship with the earth. For there +are strange sunsets ... layers of red and yellow, dark and raw like +pigments still in the rock, as if the huge invisible cliff of the sky +had been quarried out to show its colored interior. From that +burning core of the sky the people in the street seem to be fleeing, +moving in a stealthy retreat, never once looking back because what +they saw was too fearful to be looked at again. Sound passes away. +All the noises of the street whirl themselves into a funnel of sound, +and only the small pointed end of it can be heard, which is faint and +distant as humming. It is the undertone of all the people, a +negation of sound because it is all their voices merging. And +because of the radiance from which they are fleeing their faces are +hidden in shadow ... they are beings without faces, a new and +undreamed race whose lineaments are still in solution. Or perhaps +they bear the archaic features of an old Aztec race; or else, having +wearied of all things, of going to work and returning, of harrying +their bodies in the tortuous intercourse of love, they have willed to +erase their faces: that the face should break through its outworn +ritual and arrange itself otherwise. + +And is it strange that the face should change? The navel too is a +mysteriously convoluted part of the body, and here may be an inchoate +face ... or that all the people should turn with one impulse and flee +from the sun, a sudden madness upon them? For in the legends we +learn that a whole city could be bewitched ... that a good or bad +curse was laid upon each city by someone who entered it unknown, and +was refused bread at this door, or given water at another. And we +learn that the prince going forth on his adventures is told: in this +city they will all be weaving; here they will all be dancing in the +streets; in another place everyone will be laughing; and in the last +city you come to they will all be fleeing away from the sun, a silent +stealthy retreat into nowhere. Indeed it is only the curse that the +people are fleeing away from the sun ... their machines are only the +curse, and if each day they call out the number of those who are +killed by the machines it is because the spell grows old and cannot +function perfectly any more. Newsboys are running through the +streets shouting: fourteen killed ... But nobody hears them, because +it is known too well that everyone must die. They have news too of a +building that fell, but no one is curious. There is an infection in +steel that spreads, that runs amuck through its secret veins and +makes all the vast rigid body of the city a fluid of bricks. But +they are content to let these things be, grown listless with the +knowledge of their doom. Here on the corner they are barking for +Jesus, with singing and drums and a conclave of bonnets. Yet nobody +stops to buy ... he is no longer a satisfactory scapegoat. His body +is effete with too many wounds, he is worn out with centuries of the +crucifix. They will have another scapegoat, one whose body is +virgin. Here a long-haired man stands in a place where they are +building, under two steel beams that make a huge snout rooting upward +into the sky, and talks and talks ... while his eyes are craftily +watching everyone that passes. But they will not listen any more ... +words are meaningless pellets of sound. And now a troop of soldiers +comes by, drawn through them like a bright ribbon, with flags dipping +above and a bugle lifting its throat to bray skyward. But each +profile is young and austere under its helmet, each is a silent fear +glimpsed through all the mummery. But all this is a bazar of +miracles where there is nothing to buy. They will have smaller +magic, they will forget themselves looking here and there at smaller +wonders ... a man selling a device of feathers whirling at the end of +a stick, or a doll that jigs on a little black board. And here they +are crowded together and staring so hard that their eyes seem to +produce the miracle by the power of their concerted gaze ... a +peddler selling three knives for a quarter. And here is a top +balancing itself, dancing for them, swerving daintily on its single +pointed foot, and they watch as intently as if a graceful young girl +were dancing for them. Their eyes grow bright and they feel a lust +for swift motion. They have forgotten for a moment that they must +die, and there is nothing in the world but the joyous dancing of the +top. Surely then the spell can be ended ... if only one person +remembered that there is choice, if only one person said: this is +only the curse. + +But at last the silent stealthy retreat into nowhere is over, and in +the deserted city nothing stirs ... only the lightning runs +mouse-like through the sky. Because there is no longer a light in +any window, or the shape of a human being to be the pupil of it, the +buildings stare at each other with blinded eyes; and in the darkness +the city dreams of a new people that will come with the day ... while +it lies in a caul of mist that morning tears apart, insisting on +birth. + + +1 + +Lighter. He could feel a tension in the room as of something about +to strike. He could feel the darkness whirring itself up as a clock +does before it strikes. He listened for morning to strike. He raged +within himself because it was morning, because the outlines of things +came before his eyes and stared at him with their number and +finality: six beds, four on this side and two on the other ... one +table next to each bed, four legs to each table, four legs to each +bed, one man to each bed, three windows ... because everything stared +at him with one question that he had been trying not to hear: Well, +what are you going to do? Well, what _is_ there to do? Listen ... +that's easy ... spend the rest of my life listening to the noises in +my head. Sounds as if all the scales I'd ever played were running +riot. Turn them into a symphony. Start now and find out what +happens ... seems they burst and collapse ... the long wheezing sound +of collapse. Microscopic balloons bursting and collapsing inside his +head ... fair-day inside my head. Turn over now, shift the noises to +the other side. As he turned, an unpleasant thought ... what was it? +Searching for it and afraid to find it ... the feeling you get when +your teeth bite into something hard, and you keep on eating, afraid +of finding the hard spot again ... Turn over, anyway. Shift the +noises to the other side. But they don't seem to be moving any more, +feels as if each one has fallen into place. Doctor, I have all the +noises in place. Dr. Gaynor (as if lecturing): "Excellent, +excellent! Now do you recall the game we used to play as youngsters? +A little round case, the top made of glass, with tiny white balls in +it, and holes for the balls to fall into ... the trick being to roll +the balls into place by tilting the box this way and that. Now just +keep that in mind. If the noises fall out, keep wagging your head +around. After a while you'll be able to get them into place in no +time." But doctor, what game does Biondi play when he lies awake +twitching his chin that way? Here's a good question, doctor. When +does he _win_? Again ... the hard bitter taste in his mouth! Ruth +... in the center of all his thoughts the hard kernel that he bit on. +To forget her for a while ... to sleep, thrust himself back into the +darkness. Why should I want to move again? The sheets and the +blankets have hardened on me ... a long time ago they were poured +over me, and now they have hardened into a mould. Why should I want +to move again? I am tired ... I am so tired. How about this when he +comes? Doctor, I don't want to be born. No good will come of it, +doctor. Let me lie in the womb of the sheets, this way, my body +folded up. "But my dear young man, we _must_ discharge you, now that +you're well." Dr. Gaynor has his hands on my bed, leaning on them +like forepaws. Four-footed ... that's what he is. The way he leans +over each bed, gives him a chance to be four-footed again. Sick of +seeing his short bow-legs under his haunches ... needs a curve of +tail between to make it complete. Can you see Poldy? Poldy's +remembering to be grown-up. Keeps shutting his lips when they fall +open. _He_ doesn't want to, either, doctor. "Nonsense ... +everything wants." + +* * * * * * * + +Lighter. That time it skipped a beat. Turn over and try to sleep. +But instead his mind went back to his childhood. As he lay in the +hospital bed trying to sleep, his childhood became a vast water +around him, and each time that he dozed off, a little of it flowed in +... filled it up as water from the sea fills up, in the holes that +children dig in the sand. In the winter, he remembered, spit froze +on the streets in little round slabs that he tried not to slip on. +Women put shawls over their heads, and the fringes fell down on their +shoulders. From the back they looked like birds. In the winter men +warmed themselves with their arms, a flaying motion, as if they +suddenly felt guilty of something and had to do penance on the +streets. Christopher ... who ran errands for the tailor, who had a +lobe of soft flesh hanging like an ornament from his left ear. +Christopher standing alone in a dark hallway, stroking his ear and +smiling to himself. He had envied Christopher, for the lobe of soft +flesh that could be felt at secret times, that gave pliantly between +his fingers. His mother ... he remembered her less than the woman +who came to do the washing ... whom he watched as she bent over the +tub, and followed to the roof to see her hanging the clothes. Under +her skirt her buttocks were shaped like large leaves, and when she +stepped sideways they shook like leaves on the stem of her body. One +time she put a clothes-pin in her mouth, and when she took it out he +could see the beads of saliva on it shining for a second in the sun. +Then he counted to himself the number it was from the end, so that he +would not touch it when he took the things down at night ... + +Somebody sighing and turning over in bed ... Geraghty walking around +in the dark. In the bed next to him, Poldy muttering something that +sounded like an answer to a question in his dream. Forgot himself +and answered that one out loud ... how far towards morning? He could +not tell when morning would strike. He curled up his legs and tried +to sleep, but the past kept flooding in on him ... curious things +from his childhood flowed in and drifted about ... Christopher +feeling his ear in the dark hallway ... the women's shawls that were +strange birds, women with fringed bird-shoulders walking before him. +White knuckles ... the game of white knuckles! a secret greeting that +he had with the other boys, to lift his hand in front of him and +clench it until the knuckles showed white. As he tried it under the +blanket a sharp pain went into his arm ... my hand is too weak to +clench itself... + +Weakness coming over him like a wave, the shallow wave that is left +to creep back into the sea. Weakness receding into his body so that +he could not move, so that he was held in the mould of the sheets, +too weak to break through. Lying on the hill that time ... his +fingers clamping themselves into the earth, his cheek to the earth +... and from the corner of his eye seeing a cloud come over him, +feeling it pin him to the earth with one taut thread of light. For a +moment, then, he could not break through. The earth and the air and +the sky were moulded around him, and his body ... the careless shape +it made when he flung himself down ... was only the empty space +inside the mould ... To be back again, lying on the hill. To thrust +himself into the darkness again, flood the deepest plane of his mind +with sleep ... a level shore where nothing could lodge and be left +for him when the water receded; where there would be no questions, no +place for the past to come up and wake him with its swishing back and +forth ... + +How the napkins smelled of yeast one night. "Well, why don't you +eat?" Because the napkins smell yeasty ... it was the night the tree +fell in the storm, and lay clear across the street. Strange to see +the trunk lying on the pavement, strange to see the boys riding the +trunk. He remembered how they swung in the branches all day, and +forgot themselves and the street, and became mythical creatures who +have only a tree-life. But at night when the others were gone, he +had bent over and looked at the roots still fastened in the earth, +writhing against each other with arms that were embraced in a +terrible struggle. Then he had wondered why the pavement had not +burst over the place where the roots were struggling for so long, and +the tree became something evil that he ran away from, that grew in +his dreams that night ... an evil and brooding presence. + +* * * * * * * + +Five. Somewhere in a distant part of the building he heard it, he +counted five strokes and heard them repeated in the corridors. +Strange and sad it sounded to hear the clocks striking out of the +silence. For the moment that he listened his being was suspended in +longing for some remote wonder of his childhood. He heard the clocks +speaking with the sudden utterance of birds ... he thought that +somewhere in a distant part of the building there were three birds +perching on a dark branch, and giving off in their sleep the same +formula of sound ... and that he was a little boy again listening to +it. Surely he had lived this moment before, for the infinite sadness +of it was something remembered ... the dark branch in the woods was +remembered ... perhaps from some picture in a child's book ... Poldy +waking up ... but suppose I said it? Doctor, I don't want to be +born. See, I have shaped the sheets around me, a snug womb. +"Nonsense ... everything wants." Patient pleads to remain in +hospital ... try it out on your newspaper headline. Nonsense ... But +still-born children! Ah, how about that ... + +Dozing off and dreaming of a strange child-birth. It was a drill. +First the orderlies came in and ranged themselves against the wall. +Then the nurses came and stood along the opposite wall. Dr. Gaynor +came in and stood in the center of the room, and all the men were +listening to him. They were lying down and sound asleep, yet they +were listening. Dr. Gaynor stood in the center of the room and said: +"We are going to have a drill. We are going to drill you on being +born. The signal will be the clapping of my hands." He clapped his +hands, and all the men swung out of bed with their legs first, +holding them stiff and erect so that every pair of legs made an arc +in the air; and the arcs remained in the air and shaped themselves +into windows, rounded cathedral windows and someone was going in and +out the windows. + +Geraghty. He can't sleep. In and out the windows ... in and out the +beds. Geraghty weaving himself in and out of the beds all night, as +if he were a spool from which string was being unwound, weaving the +string in and out of the beds as one does with an intricate bundle. +Can't sleep until he's tied the beds securely. That's why he looks +so craftily at the doctor in the morning ... keeps them all guessing +why he can't sleep. "Couldn't sleep again, doctor, just couldn't +sleep." + + +Doctor (leaning four-footed on the bed and turning his head to look +out of the window): Couldn't sleep? + +Geraghty: I don't know what it is, doctor. + +Doctor (still looking out of the window): The drugs didn't help? + +Geraghty: Not much ... slept at the beginning, but then I had to get +up and walk around. + +Doctor answers by tapping the right hind leg. + +Geraghty (raising himself on his elbow, sudden terror in his voice): +Doctor, what do you think it is? + + +Doctor stands erect, frowning at him ... Geraghty looking back, a +wide impudent stare that seems to change into secret laughter. I'll +tell you a secret, Geraghty ... Dr. Gaynor smells yeasty. He has a +white handkerchief in his pocket that gives off a yeasty smell. + +* * * * * * * + +Turn over and try to sleep. He turned, hitting his arm against the +wall. Someone in the room answered the sound, speaking out of his +dream ... look at the sun. Who splashed it on the sky that way? +Looks like paint splashed on a palette ... another cloudy day. +Doctor, give me a brush. I want to use that splash of paint ... yes, +that one ... see what color it is. Only one splash of paint on that +whole big palette. Incredibly stupid. Seems to be a green light on +the shade ... sign of going crazy, to see new colors in things ... +look at Biondi trying to concentrate ... if that isn't! He must be +having a difficult dream ... + +Biondi frowning in his sleep, with the sheet tucked under his chin +like a napkin looked suddenly childish and comic. Biondi turned, and +a little wedge of sunlight lay on his back, as if it were a doctor's +instrument being moved carefully, thoughtfully ... searching out +something that was hidden underneath. And Biondi lying under it so +patiently ... he pitied him. I'll see Biondi when I'm gone, be back +to see him. Nonsense! The man had a disgusting way of clicking his +tongue, and his face never looked clean. Two beds away ... the large +man sleeping with his hands folded prayerfully under his cheek ... +the heavy flesh collected under his eyes ... like another pair to see +with when his eyes are closed. Two tiers of eyes staring at him ... +turn away, can't bear that staring. Poldy's ear creeping out of the +sheet, a peculiar look of listening to it. So this is your big day. +Well, what are you going to do? Sleep. No, the room is too crowded. +Oh God, all the listening and staring in the room... + +Strange how much light is coming out. Diarrhœa ... the darkness +can't stop itself. Well, they should be waking across the street. + +* * * * * * * + +He raised himself on his elbow and looked across Poldy, down and +across to a window where the shade was half-way up, a dark outer +shade showing a little way across the top, all carefully measured +like the curtains of a stage. Very well, then, begin. The man comes +out first... + +A man came to the window and stood looking down into the street. His +collar stuck out at a tangent from his neck, and while he looked +thoughtfully into the street he kept pinching the flesh of his +throat. Then he went away and the window was blank for a while, but +by careful watching one could catch the flash of a white table-cloth. +Now it's the woman's turn ... comes to the window and raises the +shade, lifts her hand with it, so that the sleeve of her kimona falls +back, and you can see the brown wrinkled flesh of her elbow. Next +the man sits down at the table with his back to the window. His legs +are curled round the chair, and while he waits for things to be +brought he strokes the back of his hair. When they are through +eating, the woman stands up and turns off the light ... After that he +could not see anything. The window went dark and opaque, like the +glass of a slide when no figures are being reflected on it. The +lights went out in all the windows, and all the buildings he could +see from the hospital became distant and opaque, a picture hung so +that no detail of it could be seen. There _were_ pictures of that +kind ... the one in my aunt's bedroom. At first only a long white +figure lying on a bed, the rest of the canvas in shadow; and he was +about to turn away when a face came out of the shadow and stared at +him ... an angry old man with a long white beard. Then he saw other +faces, all gazing out with a stern and terrible concentration ... and +every wayward curving of line became a face, and every blur of shadow +was turned into a face, until he felt that the picture had surrounded +him ... rushing out and colliding with my aunt in the hall. "But is +anything chasing you? Well, then, don't rush so..." + +"What did you say?" Dr. Gaynor asked. I said don't let it surround +me. Dr. Gaynor could not hear very well, and he had to repeat the +words over and over again, making the sounds crisper each time until +the sentence was chopped into eight separate ticks, and his tongue +ached with the effort of saying it. I said: don't let it surround +me... + +"But what?" + +"The picture. It's badly hung. I can't see the faces." + +"Ah, yes, you used to paint..." + +"No, I used to play ... Poldy used to paint. Still I know something +about it. But I can't see any of the faces. The light is bad." + +"I said he may _not_ go blind..." + +"The light is bad, doctor, pull up the shade. The light is very bad. +I can't see the picture clearly." + +"What picture?" + +"The one out there, with the windows. The oil coagulated when I +painted it. The oil lumped into windows ... they blur the picture. +Oil paintings must be hung right." + +"Yes ... yes ... I see..." + +"But the light is _still_ bad. There isn't enough light, I say. You +don't know how the darkness presses on the back of my neck." + +"Is that better?" Dr. Gaynor lifted the shade slowly, imperceptibly, +and stood near the window pinching the flesh of his throat and +looking thoughtfully at the men lying in bed. + +"But can't you lift it higher, doctor?" He heard his voice sounding +as if it were going to cry. "You don't know how the darkness presses +on the back of my neck..." + +"Well, is _that_ better..." + +But now, as the shade was raised all the way, there was a tremulous +motion in the picture. Soon it began to quiver within itself, and +while he noted this with a feeling of horror, he saw the doctor seize +the picture in his hand and hold it out like a tray. And he saw that +the picture was made up of brightly-colored fragments, each fragment +shaped differently, but all put together to look like the buildings +that he saw from the hospital. And he noted further, with a +painfully oppressive feeling that this discovery had some ominous +significance, that the picture had never really been painted, but +only put together like a puzzle. "You see, it's a puzzle," the +doctor said, "and this is the way"--he rattled the fragments on the +tray until two or three bounced off--"to break it." Then with a +stupid smile on his face Dr. Gaynor continued rattling the tray, and +there was no end to the picture, there was no end to the pieces of it +that fell on his bed ... showering down on him in a rain of fragments +too bright for his eyes, suffocating him so that he could not shout +to the doctor to stop; and piling around him so that, if he did not +stand up or raise his arms, they would cover him and bury him. But +just when he thought they were closing in over his head, the +fragments disappeared, and the faces of his friends were looking at +him ... stern and mask-like in expression. And he recognized the man +who stood at the window pinching the flesh of his throat; and Dr. +Gaynor's face went in and out of the others winking like a firefly. +There was the face of Ruth, too ... an archway of hair and her face +between; but the horror of it was that her face was void like the +door-space between the arch. And a clear voice said: the picture +surrounded you. Then he awoke. An orderly was at the window. He +had raised the shade all the way and the sunlight streamed in, making +everything brightly-colored like the fragments in his dream. + +"Very clear day," the orderly said. + +"Yes, promises to be warm." + +* * * * * * * + +Sunlight lay on the city ... a scourge of sunlight. But from the +hospital window there was no longer the city ... only a set of +building blocks small and distant as toys. Blocks laid out by some +child who was not yet old enough to play with them, who didn't know +how to pile them into a pattern or arrange them according to size ... +who knew only which was the top and which was the base, and put the +blocks together and considered it sufficient that all their tops were +to the sky, and all their bases to the earth. And beyond the +buildings was the ragged edge of the city, with boats nosing in at +the docks ... coming to be nursed. When a lot of boats came together +and stayed for a while in the docks they looked like young at the +nipples of their mother. But all this was silent. No sound came +from the city, and nothing happened to it except sun and rain. He +had looked at it for hours together until it lost perspective, lost +depth and height, and had only one plane ... until it looked to him +like a vaudeville backdrop waiting there to be rolled up, staring +desolately after the voice of the comedians is gone. + +"Very far up..." the orderly said. But how far. The bottom may be +miles below ... there may not be any bottom, only the walls of the +buildings shooting down. Sidewalks ... a temporary scaffolding, so +that they should have something to walk on. But they'd better not +stamp on it or it will fall through. + +A dream of stepping into the hospital elevator. It plunged down and +could not stop itself, and he went over to the colored man who +operated it and tapped him on the shoulder. Did you miss the +sidewalk? "Yes, I seem to have missed it." And they continued going +down, neither of them concerned over what had happened. Finally he +grew tired of this. He went over to the colored man again. Reverse +it, he said. And on the instant they were catapulted back to the +top. "You see," the colored man observed sagely, picking his teeth, +"you can reach the top but you can never reach the bottom..." + +The orderly crossing the room and standing in the doorway, waving his +hand at the window ... yes, great view. Something stopping in the +room. What was it that stopped just now? What was it that stopped +when the orderly went out? Geraghty ... Geraghty standing near his +bed and looking down at it, getting in and sighing heavily. Came to +the end of the string, and now he can sleep. But Biondi is waking up +... can tell by the way his chin begins to twitch... + +All day Biondi lay in bed twitching his chin so that tiny parallel +arches appeared on it, holding it so for a second and smoothing it +out again. The moment his chin stopped twitching he fell asleep ... +like the animals. They fall asleep easily ... just fold a wing or +put their heads away or lift a leg and they're asleep. All Biondi +has to do is to stop twitching his chin. I'll try this one on him: +Doctor, what should I do to fall asleep? Doctor (thinking +profoundly): "Shutting the eyes is good." No, don't shut your eyes +... the others will stare at you. I'll tell you a great secret, +doctor, lean over, that's it. The eyes are not only to see with ... +they are to prevent others from seeing us. Doctor (with +astonishment): "Indeed." Yes, it's true. I found it out. You can't +be stared at so easily if your eyes are open. "Oh come, now, he may +_not_ go blind." Yes, but suppose he does ... the worst part of it +will be the staring that he won't be able to repel with his eyes. +He'll have to stay alone most of the time ... being blind is not so +bad when you're alone. Isn't that true, doctor? Doctor (lecturing): +"Now the blind man that came in here the other day ... you noticed +that he walked with his head back? Blindness requires a whole +re-adjustment of the body. You balance with the eyes, too. He'll +have to learn that..." Doctor (continuing to lecture and leaning on +the bed, four-footed): "But we don't really _know_ whether he'll go +blind. In many cases vision has been retained. We are often +fortunately disappointed ... (smiling here, and quickening his words) +yes, yes, very often disappointed..." + +In school that time when I was sent to be disciplined ... the dean +rubbing his hands and saying: "But we don't really _know_ if you're +bad ... I'm satisfied that most people are good. I'm satisfied if +only a few people are bad." Why doesn't Dr. Gaynor say it ... I'm +satisfied if only a _few_ people go blind ... Well, shut your eyes +and try to imagine it ... geometry ... if Poldy goes blind will he +see geometry all his life ... + +She wrote it all down backhand and blotted as she went along ... +name, Lewis Orling ... birth, December 12, 1894 ... age, married, +wife's name, history, war record, diseases, religion ... all in ten +lines and three for remarks ... I'll give Dr. Gaynor a recipe for +creating new people. Dr. Gaynor (lecturing): To create new people, +take all the hospital charts out of the files, cut into little +strips, shake in a basket until they are thoroughly mixed, then let +fall on large pieces of cardboard, a handful of strips at a time ... +paste the fragments together ... How would _I_ come out? ... it +really can't make any difference, though. Everybody here has a +souvenir ... just a _lit_tle _sou_venir of the war. But why does +Biondi get fat on his? + +He turned and examined Biondi's face, the grayish overflowing cheeks. +He noticed his hand as it held the sheet, puffed so that the knuckles +showed as minute purple dots, and the joints as dark creases. +Biondi's flesh filled him with loathing, it seemed like an evil +compensation for the loss of his legs ... a senseless mathematical +equation stubbornly working itself out. Hatred for Biondi rose in +his throat, screwed it tight so that he felt he was suffocating. +Hatred for all the men lying in bed. All night he had been lying +awake, bearing for them the whole burden of consciousness. All +night, with inevitable suction, the busy thoughts of their sleep had +flowed into his wakefulness ... and now he hated them for the way in +which they had used him. He hated them for their easy acceptance of +what had been done to them. The trick of it! The monstrous trick of +the whole thing, that for his hope of fame and for everything he had +been before the war, he had only the noises in his head to listen to +... only the constant fine whirring in his head. Like the end of a +record, somebody forgot to take the needle off ... And again the +bitter taste of Ruth in his mouth. Now it came to him with the +impact of something first discovered that he would have to go back to +her that day; and in that moment his hatred flowed over to her... + +But meanwhile he was staring at Biondi, and the force of his stare +made Biondi open his eyes. "They change the beds around every day," +Biondi observed drowsily ... then scratched his cheek with a rapid +vibration of his forefinger, tucked the sheet under his chin and went +to sleep again ... I enter Biondi's dream, he woke to let me in. Why +can't _I_ sleep, I also am tired. Too late, too late ... no +burrowing back any more, there is no darkness left to let me in. + +But he seemed to be in utter darkness, and going down a flight of +irregular stairs. His body jerked when a step was too shallow, and +was carried down to be gently landed on those steps that were too +high. But on one of the shallow steps, and just after he had been +aware of taking it with an abrupt movement of his foot, he fell +asleep. + + +2 + +At nine-thirty that morning Lewis and Poldy stepped out of the +hospital together. At the entrance they paused, wondering which way +to turn. Then, agreeing silently and indifferently, they faced about +and walked down Fifth Avenue. + +Neither of them spoke. Poldy walked with his head drooping forward +and his eyes fixed on the pavement, and Lewis was painfully conscious +that his suit was too big for him. He kept plucking at the sleeves +to shorten them, and pulling the coat forward on his shoulders. At +last these motions made Poldy turn to look at him. "I have a suit in +Levine's office which ought to fit me better," Lewis said. But Poldy +did not answer. + +At fifty-ninth street they stopped to wait for the traffic to change. +For the first time Poldy glanced around him, looking wonderingly at +the people and the buildings. He turned to Lewis and spoke in a low +voice. "Don't you think that night nurse was beautiful?" he asked, +frowning anxiously. "Don't you think so?" But before Lewis answered +he turned away again, his eyes intently watching the pavement. Now +and then as they walked his hands fluttered to his tie, and without +looking up or slowing his pace he tried to loosen it, stretching his +neck absurdly as if he felt it was choking him. They walked rapidly, +speeding up as they went, until Lewis had to take Poldy's arm to +prevent him from breaking into a run. + +Poldy took occasion then to speak again. "Do you know what I think, +Lewis?" he asked, lowering his voice secretively. + +"Well ... what?" + +"Dr. Gaynor was sorry when we left ... he was pretty sorry about it. +And did you see Biondi's face! His jaw just dropped, like that, you +know. As though he didn't know right along that we were leaving +today." + +Something in his friend's voice made Lewis turn and look at him +intently. As Poldy's hands kept fluttering to his tie, he noted how +small they were ... the perfect small-boned modeling of the fingers +that seemed to be always engaged in such busy and ineffectual motion. +Many times before he had observed this, and always with a feeling of +pity for Poldy, as if in some way the hands were a betrayal of the +strong and well-formed body. But today he saw it with a slight +disgust. He found himself wishing that Poldy would leave him; at the +same time he knew he was afraid to be alone. While they were +together he felt himself still secure, still held in the world of +illness which had walled him in. Poldy, walking beside him with his +abstracted air, his slack profile ... the lips parted and always +moist ... made a defense around him, holding off the threat of +ordinary life. And so, though Lewis knew he should have turned his +steps westward, though he thought of all the things that had to be +done, they continued to walk together. And always there was this +absurd speeding up of their pace, until it seemed they were engaged +in a walking race with each other and people turned to stare at them. +Lewis took Poldy's arm. "See here, Poldy," he said irritably, "we +don't have to walk so fast. Don't you see how we're rushing?" But +when Poldy obediently slackened his pace, going too slowly this time, +he stopped short and faced him angrily. + +"See here, Poldy, what are you going to do? You can't walk the +streets all day." + +"Why not, I'd like to know?" + +"Something might happen to you." + +Poldy withdrew his arm pettishly. "Oh, what could happen to me +_now_! That's a good one." He turned away frowning, absorbed in +watching the automobiles ... looking at the wheels as they came +within range of his vision and following their motion with his eyes +as far as he could without turning his head. And in this intent +observation of the wheels, with his head bent forward and rigid, +there was something secretive and guilty. So wrapt was he that when +the time came to cross he started nervously and looked up, +bewildered. As he followed the lines of a tall building to its +far-away pyramid top, his gaze widened with childish wonder. He +stared at it and then looked away, sighing as at a problem that had +to be given up. Finally he remembered Lewis's question. "I'd like +to walk around a while," he said. + +"What will you do after?" + +Poldy considered. "Go to Bannerman's ... he has my pictures ... I +must see what they're like. I really don't remember." He laughed +shortly. "Say, did you _see_ Biondi's face when we left? His jaw +just dropped ... like that, you know. Yet he knew right along--" + +Lewis turned from him impatiently. "I think we had better part now, +Poldy," he said. "It's stupid to walk around this way." And when +Poldy looked at him, not understanding, Lewis drew him into the +shadow of a building and gave directions on what he was to do, +enforcing each with a tap on the shoulder. The last was that Poldy +should call him up at night and they would tell each other what had +befallen them during the day. Poldy nodded and walked away. But he +had gone only a short distance when he turned and came back to Lewis, +and stood before him, his eyes transfixed with a look of intense +pleading. + +"Lewis ... do you know what I really wish?" he began in a low hurried +voice. "I wish I had made a promise ... I wish someone had made me +promise that I would do a special thing, spend my life doing it ... +and that I had to do it now. Then everything would be simple. I +don't know what _sort_ of thing, though..." He stopped abruptly and +looked at Lewis with troubled eyes. There was something else that he +tried to say, but unable to find words for it he swung round on his +heel and walked jauntily away. Lewis stood alone. As he watched +Poldy's going he knew a beginning was made, he faced the obligation +to set his own affairs in motion. He too turned briskly and walked +in the opposite direction. + +* * * * * * * + +But after a while he felt tired. The energy which had made him leave +Poldy was gone, and he turned into a quiet side street, walking +against sidewalks so bright with sun that they struck like a blare of +sound. He drew his cap over his eyes until he could see only what +came just in front of him. With his hands curled up in his sleeves +so that they seemed to be swinging empty, and coasting near the +buildings for guidance, he gave himself up to his wanderings ... to +the feeling of exhaustion that was settling around him, a fine film +of it through which everything was strained. + +Poldy was gone. Lewis remembered now that their parting on the +street-corner had been like the parting in a fairy-tale: each to his +separate adventure after the common fate in which they had been +bewitched. And as the fairy-tale also taught, they were to meet at +night and tell what had befallen them. But, Lewis asked himself, +what _could_ befall? In his heart was the deep conviction that all +adventures were at an end ... resentment that now he was forced to go +about again, continuing his life. As he walked through the streets +and tried to think of the future, he felt like someone unwillingly +awake ... someone who expected to sleep all night but opens his eyes +after a while, and is forced to lie that way, painfully feeling his +own awareness. From the war and the hospital years he had been +forcibly awakened ... they had been a profound sleep in which +everything had rusted away within him. What could it matter then if +anything _did_ befall? Experience was now nothing to be desired, it +was valuable only because it could be recounted to Poldy at night. +Poldy! All his thoughts kept swinging back and forth about Poldy, as +if they were leashed to one center. Somewhere near him he was +walking about, they might even encounter each other at the casual +turning of a corner. But the fear of it made Lewis energetic again, +he walked briskly to the corner and stopped there, and threw his head +far back so that he could read the sign-post from under the brim of +his cap. Where was he? The answer gave him a shock. He was near +his home ... _she_ was near ... he might even have coasted past the +house and been seen by her. As he stood there looking up in panic +and wondering what to do, a tiny figure swam up before his eyes ... +seemed to hover between him and the lamp-post ... a miniature statue +swathed in gauze, something he must have seen somewhere and +forgotten, until this moment when it came back to him strangely +invested with meaning. It was swathed in hospital gauze that went in +spirals around it, and somehow made an intricate cross in back ... +went over the face of the statue in so many thicknesses that the head +looked ovoid, nothing but a little peak in front to indicate that +there were features. And in the transfixed moment that he saw it +Lewis decided not to go back to her ... not yet, he pleaded with +himself. Better to walk around a while, to be alone for a while +longer. He turned from the sign-post and found that he was at a +point where many streets intersected. He chose the one that he was +facing because it would lead him far away. + +* * * * * * * + +Towards nightfall he found himself in the park. All day he had not +stopped to eat or rest; and now, exhausted from his wanderings, he +sat down on a bench that faced the avenue, intending to have a nap +before he went home. But hardly had he stretched his legs and +settled his hands in his pockets, when a strange alertness came over +him. He felt the indefinite light and steady droning of traffic and +the movement of people merging together into a heightened silence, in +which some word was about to sound ... some revelation that would +change everything, and make it possible for him to rise and go home +as if there had never been any interruption. But only the thought of +Christopher swam insistently into his mind; and he asked himself why +it had troubled him all day ... why he remembered for the first time +today all the delight and terror that he felt, in that moment when +they had come upon Christopher standing alone and stroking his ear in +the dark hallway. Craftily, now, he understood ... that Christopher +had taught him all the subtle ways in which the body gives pleasure, +that now he too could go apart with his pain, as Christopher had done +with his deformity, and make a privacy of it where nothing could +reach him ... where Ruth's love could not reach him or the memory of +his past. So much had his childhood served him ... he had this to +begin his life with. And from the war, he asked ... was there +nothing to remember from the war, nothing swishing back and forth in +his mind from all that rich cargo of debris? He could think only of +the time with Poldy ... how Poldy burst out crying in the middle of +the road, standing there with the tears running down his cheeks, +ashamed to put his hands to his face, ashamed to look up. "But +everything is over now, Poldy. Look how quiet it is." And Poldy +taking his hand as if he wanted to crush it and looking at Lewis with +anger and hatred in his eyes. "Tell me, will it happen again? Will +I cry this way again?" Except for that there was nothing to +remember. He could not look back at his past, he did not want it to +exist. His past baffled him, as if he were looking into a room where +he could see all that went on, without being able to hear what was +said or distinguish the faces of those who were in it. Though the +room was brightly lighted and people came and went before the window, +all their gestures were detached and unreal, it was all a mysterious +pantomime. Sound was muffled in it, and on every face was the +impassive stern overtone of a mask. For him there would be neither +past nor future, but only a timeless isolation of pain. He would not +make any concession to the past ... no, not the first one, which was +to accept her love again; for fear it might act as a breach, and all +the things which he had forgotten ... all the things he had desired +... would come flooding back on him. Before he rose from the bench +he warned himself: not to accept Ruth's love again, but to harden +himself against his memories, and live with her as if they were +strangers to each other. So he would hold himself intact, so the +gesture of pain would be frozen into permanence ... + +Lewis rose to go home. On his way, however, he decided to stop at +Levine's office first and change his suit, and there to call up Poldy. + + +3 + +They had been talking for hours. Levine's back was to the lamp, his +face shadowed save for the bright prismatic play of his glasses. +Lewis sat opposite. Between them the desk bore the burden of their +gestures. Lewis kept striking it with his clenched fist when he +talked, or nervously smoothing it with his palm whenever he was +forced to listen. Levine sat massive and immobile, his hands for the +most part clasped in front of him, except when the word he wanted did +not come. Then he would release his right hand, and putting the +thumb and forefinger together, shake off an invisible drop of water +... a gesture which seemed to have the virtue of bringing the right +word to mind. From the ambush of shadow in which he sat Levine +studied his caller, his face never once relaxed from the curious +expression with which he had first greeted him. + +It was true, he noted, that Lewis's appearance had changed little. +There were the same quick resentful motions of his small brown eyes, +the same nervous gestures and voluble speech. If the war had made +any change in him it had been merely to accentuate his mannerisms, to +give them a hysterical tempo. Otherwise there was the same +expression of the face ... an expression slightly fanatic, due +perhaps to the sparsity with which it was fleshed ... an air of +strain about the features, which seemed to be always peaked with the +effort of staying together ... a strained expression about the +nostrils, which were clamped too tightly into the upper lip and had a +trick of whitening whenever Lewis was angered. As his friend spoke +to him, Levine noticed it often ... this sudden concentrated pallor +about the nostrils; and he sensed that under the voluble +reminiscences and abrupt outbursts of laughter, there was a current +of anger ... whenever they stopped speaking he could feel it almost +physically present, waiting for a reckoning. Yes, all that had been +said so far, Levine told himself, was nothing. He understood that +Lewis had sought him out for something special that had to be said, +to have the reckoning with his anger in his presence. So in a long +silence that fell between them, he leaned forward and spoke in a low +voice. "Tell me," he said, "why didn't you go home first?" + +Lewis flashed a look at him that was half sulkiness, half +appreciation. "You might understand that yourself, I think." + +"But you see, I don't," Levine said humbly. "Well, no ... perhaps I +do. There are so many things, at least, to understand by it..." + +But Lewis was staring at him with fascinated eyes, as if he were held +spellbound in an idea that had just occurred to him. He took from +his pocket four tiny pieces of newspaper, each one folded small as a +thumb-nail. These he opened and smoothed out on the desk. + +"I'd like to tell you something," he said slowly. "It _is_ a sort of +explanation. But first you'll have to read these. I cut them out of +newspapers," he added carelessly, "various times, when I had nothing +better to do." + +Frowning, and holding the paper so close to his face that he seemed +to be smelling it, Levine read: + + + Last night a fire broke out in the town hall during a performance + of the Brahms' _Requiem_, given by the Ascension Choral Society. + Flames were discovered by an usher in the cloak room on the + balcony, and the extinguishers immediately applied. It required + the quick action of the fire department, however, to prevent the + flames from spreading. The audience left in good order, except + for a slight panic at one of the exits, which occurred when one + of the ushers had difficulty in opening a door. + + +Levine put it aside and glanced up inquiringly. "Read them all," +Lewis said, shoving them across the desk. "They're pretty much +alike, though." There was a peculiar expression on his face, a look +of distrust and cunning while he watched his friend read. At one +time he rose and began to pace excitedly around the room, rapping +everything as he passed. More and more seriously, scarcely daring to +look up and ask the meaning of it, Levine read: + + + Last night a performance of _Faust_ at the Opera House was + temporarily interrupted by the discovery of fire in one of the + property rooms. A fifteen minute delay in raising the curtain on + the third act caused considerable impatience and anxiety among + the audience. The flames were extinguished by stage hands before + any serious damage occurred. + + +and, + + + Fire, attributed to the careless lighting of a cigarette, burned + the Trentini Theatre to the ground, last night between nine and + ten o'clock. The fire broke out during a performance of _Cosa + Sia_, and there was a general stampede to the exits. Fireman + Conrad Meltzi was fatally injured when a section of the balcony + collapsed. + + +The last one was different: + + + A performance of _The Sunken Bell_ was interrupted last night at + the Playhouse by a disturbance in the audience, due to the sudden + illness of one of the women spectators. Dr. Alfred Downing who + attended the patient announced that she had given birth to a boy + in the women's rest room. + + + +"Interesting! All very interesting!" Levine exclaimed on finishing. +He took off his glasses and polished them, speaking meanwhile in a +brisk professorial manner. "As I see it, there's a common element in +all these notices. In each case a performance seems to have been +interrupted. In three cases a fire caused the interruption, in one +the premature delivery of a child under unfavorable circumstances. +Now if we proceed from this point, our next step--" he looked +inquiringly at Lewis. "Our next step, I should say, is to find out +... discover, I should say, what the symbols involved..." + +"Do you think it was foolish?" Lewis interrupted. + +"Think what foolish..." + +"To collect those ... the papers you were reading." He leaned +forward impulsively and swept them off the desk. "A hundred times +I've been on the point of throwing them away, and yet I couldn't. I +treasured them as if they were valuable coins. I insisted on keeping +them every time they searched my pockets for things to throw away. +People looked at me queerly. Something wrong here, you know, up +here." He rapped his forehead three times and burst out laughing. +"Yet it's awfully simple. I kept those papers," Lewis began, +deliberately tapping off the words on the desk, "as a record of my +life ... a simple, clear-cut record of my life. In each case, as you +say, a performance is interrupted by fire. Fire is the war, of +course, the years I've been away. Now isn't that easy? Don't you +feel it when you read it?" He half-rose in his chair and thrust +himself forward at Levine, a fixed triumphant expression on his face. +Levine, intent on polishing his glasses, looked up gravely. + +"Say you're sitting in a theatre," Lewis continued hurriedly. "Say +you're listening to the performance ... a beautiful and deliberate +performance. And suddenly some one cries fire, and instead you find +yourself listening to the horrible crackling of the flames and +screams of terror, and the sound of feet trampling over human bodies. +Only--and this is the worst part of it--_through_ your panic you +still hear the performance going on, even through your terror. Faint +and far away you hear it completing itself. And while you struggle +and scream and trample over the others you're still listening to it, +a thousand times more beautiful and majestic because it comes to you +through the fire. But now suppose--" He sat down abruptly, still +staring across at Levine with that fixed expression of triumph. + +"What should we suppose?" Levine asked mildly. + +Lewis looked down and spoke more slowly, finding the words with +difficulty. "Suppose that moment ... the moment of panic terror +which should normally last only a second," he said, "were to be +prolonged indefinitely. Suppose a person was destined to a lifetime +of it ... to be haunted by the music even in his terror. If we could +imagine such a person, if there was a person who had that fate..." + +"Then what?" Levine interrupted drily. + +But Lewis could not go on. His face flushed and now he felt a +painful quivering in both eyelids, so violent that he wanted to shade +his eyes with his hands, to hide it from Levine's scrutiny. "Well, +take me for such a person," he finished, looking away shamefacedly. + +Levine continued meditatively polishing his glasses. After a while +he asked, "When did you figure all this out?" + +"Oh, a long time ago ... too long ago," Lewis said wearily. "I got +my first idea of it, I remember, one day during the war, when I came +across that notice you read about the theatre burning down. Quite +accidentally, while I was standing near a flight of steps, I +remember, and happened to look down, and I saw an American newspaper +lying on the ground. I read that part over and over again, while the +paper was still lying on the ground, without knowing why it excited +me so. Then I bent down and tore it out and put it away in my +pocket. After that--weeks after, I remember--the meaning of it +flashed on me. But there were a great many things that went before, +before I could understand it." + +"Well, what went before?" Levine held his glasses in front of him, +turning them this way and that to catch the light from the window. + +"There's something I'd have to explain first." + +"Namely..." + +Lewis hesitated. "The queer ways," he began slowly, "in which people +amuse themselves ... comfort themselves when they suffer. Probably +you don't know." He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. +"Of course they thought I was acting queerly, collecting those papers +and saving them ... but only because they never noticed the queer +ways that people have of comforting themselves. There was a fellow, +for instance, who seized every scrap of tin foil he could lay hands +on, and cut it up into the shape of nickels, and rubbed the design +from real nickels on it so that it looked like real money. He must +have had a fortune in make-believe nickels ... he carried them around +in his pocket and acted as if everyone were trying to steal them. +Whenever there was anything to eat, chocolate or cheese that came +wrapped in tin foil, he cared more about getting the wrapper than the +food. He was so greedy for it that he regularly traded his share of +food for it. I lost track of him after a while, but I saw him again +one time lying in bed, and making the artificial nickels with the one +arm and few fingers he had left. So you see," he looked swiftly at +Levine and turned away again, "once you have seen things like +that...." + +"My dear young man," Levine said drily, "you don't have to justify +your ways to me." + +"I'm glad, though, that I threw them away." Lewis sighed and touched +the papers gingerly with his foot. Meanwhile Levine's gray eyes were +fixed on Lewis. With his glasses off, their expression was mild, +slightly astonished. Yet there was in that very mildness a hint of +something implacable. There was, in Levine's eyes, infinite +kindliness, but also infinite insistence ... eyes possessed of +implacable patience, that would inevitably draw from whatever they +looked at the intimate secret of that thing. Lewis looked away and +tried to fixate the narrow line of red ribbon that showed on the +typewriter, but the quivering in his eyelids began again and he was +forced to look down. He began to trace imaginary circles on the +desk, and while he gave his recital in a voice scarcely audible, he +seemed intent on the circles he was making, now very rapidly, now +slowly. + +"It happened to me first," he said, "while I was waiting on line. +There is, of course, endless waiting on line. It's not the least of +the things one has to go through. This time we were standing in a +narrow hallway, all leaning against the wall--some of us with our +backs to the wall and our arms folded; and these were the ones who +had their heads back as if they were sleeping standing up. And +others standing sideways, crouching against the wall as though they +had to support it. I think I remember the way we stood so well +because it seemed at that moment as if we were all asleep, instead of +standing and waiting on line. We were all so listless and tired. +Nobody spoke, nobody cared any more whether the doctor's door would +ever open again and call the next one in. It made the place where we +were unnaturally quiet, the sort of quiet that happens only when +there are people together who have been silent for a long time. And +while I was standing there, and probably _because_ it was so quiet--I +didn't know what it was to be in a quiet place for months together--I +began to hear music ... an orchestra playing in the distance, but +very clearly. So far away and sad, it seemed to me that I had never +heard music before or known how sad it could be. It sounded very +distinct, playing a triumphal march.... I heard it from the +beginning to the last note, and after the last note it stopped. Only +when it stopped, I realized that it hadn't been triumphant, but +mournful ... and that all the time it had been going farther away +while it played. And then suddenly, suddenly it seemed--" Lewis +stopped, his lips twitching so that he could not speak. He sat in +silence for a moment, rapping the desk violently with his clenched +fist. "How do these things happen?" he asked harshly. "Perhaps +_you_ know all about it, Levine. How did it happen that the music I +heard then ... that march being played somewhere in the distance, +became the symbol for my life ... no, it _was_ my life. It was all +the past I had ever lived, every day I ever lived, every moment. Do +you believe it, Levine, that a man can suddenly _hear_ his life?" He +stared across at his friend with an absurd expression. "But it +wasn't ordinary listening," he continued, raising his voice angrily +as if someone had challenged him. "I tell you I felt a shock of +recognition. I listened to it with horror, as though a physical +presence, a ghost in the form of sound, were confronting me...." + +Levine was about to speak, but Lewis motioned for silence. "And +after that it came back to me ... in the midst of the fighting, when +I could not even hear my own shouting, it would come back clearly ... +screaming above the noise, never played too fast, but only magnified +somehow a thousand times. And in every moment of pain, or when it +was intensely quiet ... especially when it was quiet ... or when I +couldn't sleep, I heard it again, at such times soft and far away. +But often as I heard it, there it was--the strange feeling that my +own life was speaking to me." + +"Yet after a while," Lewis continued, intent again on the circles his +finger traced, "after a while the experience became a sort of horror +to me. I lived every minute in fear of it, and once that fear got +hold of me, the war seemed to go on in another world, and I did my +share of it in a trance. That time is all a blur to me. My real +life was the fear of hearing the music. I could face danger, then, +without thinking of it, I could kill without knowing it, because I +had gone into a stupor of fear. And the strange thing is that it +wasn't the fear of anything around me--all the things that threatened +my life--but only the fear of hearing the music, the horror that at +the next moment I would hear it playing. 'Very well,' I said to +myself, quite calmly, 'that's what they mean by going insane.' And I +might have gone insane, if not for finding the notice that way. It's +so trivial that it sounds ridiculous to speak of it ... yet in some +way it had the power to relieve the tension ... it cleared things up +for me and lifted me out of my stupor into the world again...." + +Lewis paused and looked directly at Levine for the second time in his +narrative ... a swift suspicious glance. "Shall I continue," he +asked sharply, "or does it sound stupid to you?" + +"No ... no ... go on." + +"But it _is_ stupid," Lewis insisted, watching him. + +It seemed for a time as if Levine had forgotten Lewis. He had been +pacing back and forth while he listened, measuring his route +diagonally across the room, never varying it by a single step. Now +he stopped near the window and busied himself with rubbing off the +specks of paint that were spattered on the glass. He went to the +typewriter and blew away the dust that lay on it in a thin film. +Then a picture on the wall claimed his attention. This he +straightened carefully, measuring it by the line of white moulding. +In all these actions there was an air of profound absorption. + +"No, I don't think it's stupid," he said, standing back to observe +the effect of the picture. + +"It _was_ stupid," Lewis insisted in a nettled voice. "Perhaps I did +go insane ... mildly, without knowing it..." + +Levine shrugged his shoulders. "Go on with the story." + +"Well, you have to know first," Lewis resumed, his voice deliberately +careless, "that I was a musician before the war." + +"I know. And now?" + +"Now? Why--why that's all over with ... head noises ... tinnitus +aurium, the technical name." He laughed self-consciously. "And so +it was natural that I should think of my life in terms of music ... +as a symphony, let us say, that I was conducting ... something being +conducted very deliberately to its end. You understand that I didn't +see all this in a flash. It's a matter which I had to figure out, a +part occurring to me now and then, and I pieced it together. But I +must have been thinking about it for a long time without knowing it. +I must have said: my life _will_ be a performance, it will be +deliberate. I know that all the steps were planned in my mind, they +were to follow each other inevitably like the movements of a +symphony. But perhaps..." Lewis paused and stared thoughtfully ... +"perhaps one has no right to be so deliberate about living ... or +triumphant either? Perhaps there was something wrong with that ... +I've often wondered." He was silent, rubbing his forehead and +frowning. "Well, what does it matter anyway," he resumed. "At any +rate the first step was already over--the first movement, I ought to +say. And I began to hear the second, a few introductory notes, that +is, nothing more. Do you remember that picture of me at the piano?" + +"You mean the one where you were playing and looking over your +shoulder?" + +Lewis nodded. "The shoulder was too coquettish, by the way. Just +nervousness that made me lift it a little when they snapped me." + +"Why no, I didn't notice." + +"It was, though. You can't imagine how I suffered because of that +shoulder. I thought: it's impossible that anyone will take me +seriously after that picture. But there it was the next morning ... +'a name that will rank with the greatest ... a musical talent of the +first magnitude.' You know, those two phrases kept going through my +head for weeks after, practically deafening me. It was terrible, +like having the words of a popular song in your head. One time it +occurred to me, just as I was starting to play, that the first one +... about the name that would rank ... made the opening words for my +minuet ... the one that goes this way..." he hummed a few measures, +emphasizing the time with short rhythmic movements of his right hand. +"It seemed to me it was actually written for those words, light but +sort of important. Or sometimes I amused myself by arranging the +words like notes. A musical talent of the first magnitude ... that's +sixth-eighth time. A name that will rank with the greatest, either +three-quarter or..." + +Lewis stopped and burst out laughing ... a paroxysm of laughing and +coughing that made the tears stream from his eyes. He put his +handkerchief to his mouth and looked over it at Levine, his eyes +widening with an expression of surprise, that turned into alarm as +the coughing continued. When at last he was able to withdraw the +handkerchief, his face was red and he turned away sheepishly. + +"No, really," he said, wiping his eyes, "I shouldn't laugh. It's +nothing to laugh at, I assure you." + +Levine sat down and looked thoughtfully at Lewis. He clasped his +hands in front of him, then released the right hand and shook off an +invisible drop of water from his thumb and forefinger. But the +gesture failed him, and he rose abruptly and continued with his +pacing back and forth. For a long time he seemed absorbed in his own +thoughts, until a knock at the door roused him. He opened it to +admit a stout little man whom he addressed as Lustbader. Lustbader +sat down in a corner of the room, and with a quick dainty movement +vaulted one leg across the other. + +"I'll wait, I'll wait!" he protested, looking brightly from Levine to +Lewis. "Nothing special, Levine, just a friendly call." And by way +of establishing this, he looked off into the distance, whistling, and +occupied himself with throwing his cane from one hand to the other. +This he did with a skill and precision that fascinated Lewis. + +Later, when Lustbader removed his hat, he revealed that the fringe of +hair on his head, his eyebrows and eyelashes, even the little tuft of +mustache, were all of the same color ... a dull brick red, which +seemed to cast a reflected glow on his cheeks; and not merely of the +same color, but perfectly matched in shading and texture. And this +uniform coloring made his face look so unreal, so much as if it were +made up for a masquerade, that Lewis found himself unable to take his +eyes from the newcomer. He was staring open-mouthed when Levine +called him to attention, and he realized that they were being +introduced. + +"Lewis Orling, whom you may be able to use in your theatre, a +musician before the war, but he's been out of things for a long +time--" + +Lustbader interrupted with an imperious motion of his hand. "The +name is no good," he said, and then, nodding genially to everything +that Levine said, he permitted him to continue. "Excellent! Very +excellent!" he said, when Levine had finished. "We have a musical +audience in the theatre ... he'll appreciate that. Besides, he can +work up a little orchestra later on. Go around tomorrow, Levine will +give you the address, and ask for Mr. Lange. Be sure you say Lan-ge, +in two syllables like that. He always insists on it." He looked +from one to the other with a droll wink, and then burst into a mighty +laugh, from which he abruptly extricated himself. Switching on a +most serious expression, he stared at Lewis as if he were noticing +him for the first time. + +"The name is entirely too short," he said emphatically. "But we can +fix it, we can fix it. How about adding something? Orlingoff? No, +that won't do. Have to make it something Italian, you know. +Antonini is one I've often used. Now when will you report, Antonini? +Tomorrow, say, at three?" + +Lewis nodded as if hypnotized. He looked toward Levine, but seeing +him absorbed in sorting out papers, he took his leave with a muttered +and self-conscious good-bye to Lustbader. As he went down the +stairs, a feeling of complete weariness and indifference to +everything overcame him. But he remembered, on his way home, to call +up Bannerman, to find out whether Poldy had been there. He was told +that Poldy had not been heard from all day. + + +4 + +The subway train ran out of the station, flashing sparks from the +rear like a sudden bright excretion. Poldy stood on the platform +looking after it ... listening to the wheels spinning themselves out +in the distance, spinning themselves into a sharp needle of sound +that went probing through his brain. + +It seemed to him that everyone knew his purpose, everyone was waiting +for it to happen ... walking impatiently around him, glancing at him +slyly as they passed. He wanted to say to them, "Be patient ... in a +little while..." Even the newsboy grew tired. He put down his +papers angrily, slapped the back of his hands to his buttocks, and +began to dance up and down on his heels. "Wait ... only wait," Poldy +wanted to plead with him. "I've been afraid all day ... in a little +while ... when the next train comes it will happen." And while he +thought of these words, the newsboy looked at him as if he +understood, and sat down on his papers and patiently watched the +tracks. + +Poldy wondered whether he had spoken out loud and the boy had really +heard, or whether it was only a coincidence that he sat down that way +and watched the tracks. It was strange. It was all part of the +strange feeling that had come over him since the moment he left Lewis +and continued his way alone ... a feeling that he could not tell any +more what part of reality he dreamed to himself, made up as he went +along, and what part actually existed. A painful feeling that he had +entered into a waking dream, and that everything that happened ... +faces he saw and words that he heard ... played up to it, like actors +called on to improvise ... a dream that he was powerless to stop and +could not escape from by waking. There were only unexpected moments +when it was suddenly lifted from him; and then he would look around +self-consciously, ashamed of what had happened in his fantasy, +ashamed of what he had made the others say and do... + +But now it seemed to be growing darker. He could feel the darkness +hanging lower over his eyes each time, as if he were being slowly +blindfolded. Everything was quiet. The noise of the trains and the +clapping of turnstiles and the shouts of the newsboys had all stopped +together. Nothing was left of it but the silent shuffling of feet +around him, like the part of a parade where there is no music. + +And now a tall negro carrying a monkey wrench came walking down the +platform. He picked out one of the slot machines and began to pry it +loose from the steel pillar. He turned, as he worked, with his cheek +to the mirror, and Poldy could see his eye reflected. All around it +there was heavy wrinkled flesh, and his eye nested snugly in the +flesh, white and round as an egg. And when the negro looked down, he +seemed to be covering the egg and laughing to himself because he had +hidden it. + +"When he is through he will put the slot machine on his head and bend +his knees outward, and walk down the platform that way, frightening +them..." and he smiled, knowing what would happen. But the newsboy +turned to him severely. + +"There's a train coming," the newsboy said. + +"I can't hear it." + +"There's a train coming." + +"Let me alone ... I feel sleepy." + +And Poldy closed his eyes and dozed off at once; but every time that +his head seemed to fall into something which was cool and bottomless +water, and then to be catapulted to the surface again, he would open +his eyes and give a long, low whistle: "Did you see that one?" But +the boy stood up as if he had just reminded himself of something. He +picked up one of the papers and waved it over his head, turning +himself slowly around under it. "Fourteen killed," he intoned, +"fourteen killed..." + +"You needn't turn around that way." + +"Ah ... but watch this." Bubbles of saliva began to wink at the +corners of his mouth, he curved the paper over his head for a sail +and whirled himself faster and faster, crying to all the mirrors of +the air: "Fourteen killed ... fourteen killed..." until they were +caught in a network of voices, in the whirling deafening center of +it, and every voice was calling in the same pitch and rhythm: +"Fourteen killed..." + +Poldy put his hands to his ears. "Stop them now," he said irritably. +The boy stopped whirling at once and it was quiet again. + +"Besides, fourteen what? It might be rabbits." + +"There's a train coming..." + +The whistle of the train sounded in the distance. His eyes grew +blurred with a vision of wheels ... an imprint of wheels whirling +wherever he turned, and in the hollow rim of each wheel a curve of +light swinging, swishing itself gleefully to and fro. He shut his +eyes, but with a cunning quick motion they began to rotate under his +eyelids, swifter and swifter rotating in their narrow framework, +until they beat against it with a fury of imprisoned motion ... until +his head was set quivering with the impact, and his whole body +fluttered back and forth in the air like some huge tuning fork. "Now +... now," the boy whispered ecstatically. But instead Poldy put his +hand out and caught the steel pillar near him, he waited with fingers +clamped to the shaft until the train passed. Again he saw it flash +an excretion of light, he heard the wheels spinning themselves out in +the distance. Then the wheels under his eyelids stopped turning, his +body touched with something hard and rigid, was steady again ... +nothing was left but a slow deliberate pulse in his head like part of +a machine that has to swing itself still.... + +Poldy went to the bench and sat down. The newsboy followed, staring +at him rapt and attentive, and once he thrust his cap back from his +forehead with an excited motion. + +"It won't happen," Poldy said humbly. "But there's a man walking on +the tracks, it may happen to him." + +"You were afraid." + +"I'll buy a paper. Will that fix it?" + +The boy handed him the paper without answering and walked away. He +was almost out of sight when a wind blew his blouse out in back, as +if he were flashing back an obscene gesture. + +And now the man came strolling out of the tunnel. There was +something queer about his face. All the features sagged into the +right cheek, as if the face had been fluid once and congealed while +it was being held at the wrong angle. He was very short and thin, +and a large red can was attached to his side, like the strange +cylinders that insects wear. He was filling it with papers, prying +them out from the tiny crevices under the tracks, rubbing them for a +moment between his fingers and slipping them away. But once he +glanced up and saw that everyone was watching him. Then he seemed to +be frightened and he crossed over to the platform and paced back and +forth in front of it, peering into all the spaces underneath for a +place where he could crawl in. There, where no one would see him, he +would shift his cylinder to his back, fold his arms and legs under +him and go to sleep.... + +But in a little while this man on the tracks was going to be run +over. It was known beforehand to Poldy. He knew it by the way the +man was standing ... in shoes that were too big for him, and turned +out and sprawling away from each other ... the same way that the +shoes looked in his dream: that a man had been run over and the crowd +gathered to see him, and all they could see was his shoes sticking +out from under the wheels, sprawling away from each other at a crazy +angle. He knew it because he remembered the wheels ... how a curve +of light sat swinging in each wheel, swishing itself gleefully to and +fro with a foreknowledge of its prey. + +So he turned to the old man sitting near him. "There's a fellow down +there on the tracks who's going to be run over." + +The old man did not answer. + +"He looks Jewish," Poldy thought, "and he's a peddler. There's a +fellow down there on the tracks who is going to be run over." + +But the old man shifted his bundle and moved away. He had a +handkerchief tied over his chin, and there was something bulging out +underneath. His hand was trembling with palsy, and he held it close +to his body and tilted his head to one side, listening to the +trembling of his hand, as if to a very faint ticking. After a few +minutes he looked at Poldy with a crafty sideways glance. "Do you +hear it?" he asked. + +Poldy heard it, and the sound of his palsy was so loud that it +reverberated through the whole station, it vibrated in his ears, +deafening him. + +"Stop it!" he snapped. + +The old man's eyes widened innocently. "Stop what?" + +"That noise you're making with your hand." + +"What noise?" + +"I tell you it's making me deaf," Poldy retorted angrily, and he +caught the old man's hand and held it in his; but under his palm he +could feel it craftily vibrating, like a still thing that a little +boy picks up, and it suddenly begins to wiggle. He dropped it then, +and the old man put it near him again and went on listening to it. + +"Besides, what have you under your handkerchief? Why is your chin +covered that way? There must be something loathsome on it." + +The old man fingered his chin and looked archly at him. + +"There's a man down on the tracks who's going to be run over," Poldy +said. "Ah ... I knew that would interest you." + +"But how do you know?" + +"By his shoes." + +"By his shoes?" + +"Exactly ... did you ever stop to notice your shoes just after you've +slipped them off? They stand there at a crazy angle ... nobody ever +walks that way...." + +"I seem to remember something like that." + +"Well, that's the way he's standing down there on the tracks, and +that's how his shoes will look when they stick out from under the +wheels." + +"Indeed!" He looked admiringly at Poldy. + +"Yes," Poldy continued. "You can see how the crowd shuffles around +him, as if they're waiting for a tardy performer. They want to see +him turn his feet out like a clown when he's lying under the wheels +... and his face will be fluid again..." + +"Fluid?" + +"Ah ... there's the whistle..." + +They stood up and went to the edge of the platform, and the old man's +fingers were thrumming his handkerchief, as if he wanted to tear it +away. People drifted here and there, uncertain where it would +happen. The train whistled in short frantic bleats, but the man on +the tracks was standing quietly before it, looking up at it with +infinite wonder on his face, and once he lifted his hand and flapped +it weakly. That was comical, as if a timid patient were trying to +wave the dentist away, when he takes up a new instrument. Meanwhile +the old man was scurrying around on the edge of the crowd. Poldy +took his arm and drew him aside. + +"Don't be excited," he advised. "I've a riddle." + +"Yes?" + +"Why are people always standing on the edge of a crowd and thinking +they see something?" + +With his free arm the old man gesticulated frantically towards the +train. + +"Look ... look at that..." Poldy continued. "It's much more fun back +here. Just stay here and see how their buttocks quiver. You can +tell everything that's happening by watching their buttocks." + +But now the people seemed to be going off in different directions, +and the old man looked at Poldy in alarm. "What is it ... what is +it? Has nothing happened?" + +"Wait ... only wait. It's teasing them for a while. Did you ever +see anyone holding a piece of candy in the air and teasing the +children with it?" + +"Of course ... of course." + +"They don't know where to stand, because the candy is being waved +around all the time. That's how it is." + +The old man wagged his finger playfully against his chin. "Ah ... I +see, I see..." he murmured. But now Poldy noted with terror that the +old man could not stop wagging his finger, but that it went faster +and faster, almost tearing away the handkerchief. And he knew that +he was waking at last from the dream; for he remembered that in every +dream there is the moment when one of the actors will not go on with +it; he keeps doing the same thing over and over, and the dreamer is +forced to wake up. But because of his disobedience, that actor in +the dream is still with him when he awakes, masked with reality and +slyly arranging his speech so that it sounds like a continuation of +the dream. So Poldy awoke, and found that he was standing next to +the old man, and that he had just stepped aside to let him see the +accident better. And the old man was looking down into the tracks +with a sorrowful face, and murmuring: "Ah, I see ... I see." +Meanwhile his finger took the handkerchief from his chin, and there +was nothing underneath but his beard. "And he was a young man, too," +he added softly, turning to Poldy. "You noticed him on the tracks, +didn't you? We were sitting there on the bench." + +Poldy nodded. + +"And his shoes too big for him. Ach! the poor fellow!" + +And it was all as he had foreseen. The shoes were sticking out from +under the train and sprawling away from each other, as if someone had +placed them carelessly outside the door; and now he thought the old +man turned to him accusingly, as though in his dream they had been in +some secret place together, and willed that it should happen. + +"A young man, wasn't he?" + +"Yes, a young man." + +"Didn't have time to get away?" + +"I don't know..." + +"Did he hear the whistle?" + +"No..." + +A policeman came and ordered them all to move back against the wall. +They retreated before him, walking backward with their eyes fixed on +the tracks as if they were hypnotized. "Yes, watch ... watch..." +Poldy told himself bitterly. "It will all be this way when it +happens to you. You thought of suicide quickly but you will see +little by little what it is like. You catch something in your hand +quickly, but you open your hand slowly to see what it is...." + +But now for a time there was nothing to do. It was like a +badly-written play that lags ... new players drifted in at regular +intervals in response to a silent unsuspected cue. They made +desultory gestures and spoke sometimes. The newsboy came running the +whole length of the platform. He sat down on his bundle of papers, +put his hands on his knees and rode them back and forth, never once +looking at the tracks. He seemed to care only to sit there, riding +his hands back and forth on his knees. The brakeman came out of the +train and jumped down on the tracks, and looked at the shoes for a +long time, and then at the wheels and then at the train, involved in +strange calculations of his own. At length his face grew puzzled, as +if he could not fathom the relation between all these things. He +took off his gloves and dusted them against the platform. Then he +leaped up cheerfully and hailed the policeman. A man appeared from +nowhere, swinging a lantern and shouting: "Back her up ... back her +up." + +"Here, here ... what's the hurry?" the policeman called back. "It'll +keep." + +A soldier stepped out of the crowd and planted himself near the +policeman. "Say ... perhaps he's living yet," he said. + +"Brother, that's an idea." + +"Sure ... you never can tell." + +The policeman winked at the others and burst into a hearty laugh. +They moved nearer and some who were going away turned back, looking +eagerly from the policeman to the soldier, as if they were two +performers whose repartee would lead up to a joke for all of them. + +"You never know what you can pick up living," the soldier began. + +"No, you don't." + +The old man kept twitching Poldy's coat. "He lies dead," he +whispered. "He lies dead and they quarrel." + +"Strangest thing how they keep on living ... I've seen it." + +"You certainly have," the policeman agreed cordially. He had been +facing the crowd, but now he wheeled around to the soldier and raised +his voice. "Well, now, suppose he is living..." + +The soldier stared at him, completely entranced by the finality of +that question. But to Poldy, looking intently at the feet under the +wheels, it seemed as if there was a slight movement. The right foot +seemed to turn itself inward, with the indifferent movement of a very +tired sleeper. "Then if I dream it again tonight," he thought, "I +must revise the position of the shoes." But now the old man was +twitching Poldy's coat again. His face was pale and he fingered his +beard nervously. "The train's moving back," he whispered. They had +been coaxing the train backward, and it was moving away reluctantly. +The man with the lantern swung it into the air, and the train stood +still. Then they ran to the edge of the platform, swift as a litter +of kittens when the plate is uncovered, and turned away again, each +with the memory of it on his face. The old man mounted the stairs +with Poldy. He tucked the handkerchief over his chin and went away. +The newsboy ran down the street waving his paper and shouting: +Fourteen killed ... There was one thought in Poldy's mind that came +to him fluently and impersonally, as if he were reading it: he had +gone down into the subway to commit suicide, but the death of the man +on the tracks had given him a reprieve. There was one word that he +kept repeating to himself as he walked ... tomorrow. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +1 + +It was several weeks after his interview with Lewis that Levine +stepped out of his office into a street swept with wind and rain. It +was welcome to him, tired out by an afternoon spent in unraveling the +evidence in a case that was pre-empting the headlines of all papers. +He ducked against the oblique advance of the rain, buttoned his coat +across his throat, and resolved to walk the three miles to +Bannerman's studio. Poldy had not been heard from since the day he +left the hospital, and Levine was going to look at his pictures, his +curiosity about them heightened by the fact of Poldy's disappearance. +By looking at the pictures, Levine thought, he might be able to +predict whether Poldy would return or not; though he could hardly +have told what would be the cue for this revelation, what evidence in +the pictures would guide him. There was, moreover, a certain +portrait that he wanted to see, in the presence of which he thought +he might decide things that were troubling him, that he mused over as +he strode forward against the rain. + +The streets were deserted. Walking alone in his long rain-coat, and +with his head and huge shoulders thrust forward, Levine looked like a +mythical figure doomed to appear in storms when all others are +indoors. He walked rapidly, save when his glasses became too wet and +a temporary blindness overtook him. Then he had to seek the shelter +of a doorway to take them off and dry them. It was almost dark when +he knocked at Bannerman's door, and found his friend working in +bathrobe and stocking feet. Bannerman turned to him, revealing a +forehead that was wet and shining from cold applications. + +"Levine," he announced, "I'm a chart ... a regular chart." He paused +and gingerly fished out a napkin from the bowl of water that stood +under his easel. "I'm going to hire myself out to a clinic. I'm +convinced that medical science has a great deal to learn from me. +And why am I a chart? Because I can tell where every nerve is +located by the pains I have. For instance, why does it suddenly +catch me here? Right here, on this particular spot, whenever I put +my foot down? Because there's a nerve there, of course, nearer the +surface than the others." He lifted his foot and laid his finger +with great precision on the tip of his heel. "May be a nerve there +that they don't know about as yet. Never in the left foot, you +understand, but always in the right. Now that must be significant. +Or take this ... the fleshy part of the arm up here. There's a nerve +here that's specially vicious. How do I know? It just barks +whenever I move. As for my back, there's a whole mob of them there. +Yes, sir ... a tribe of them. And one of them acts like a streak of +lightning. Now watch this." He ducked his head forward and held his +face contorted for a moment. "Aha ... there it is," he called out +triumphantly, and demonstrated with his hand. "From the right +shoulder blade across to the left ribs, then straight around my +middle losing itself in the navel. I don't mention my head. That's +entirely too complicated. But God! What a freak I am. Come in, +ladies and gentlemen, and see the human chart. An illuminated chart, +lit up by pains. What do you say, Levine, do you know of a good +clinic that I can hire myself out to?" + +"Nothing but your cervical plexus," Levine answered, taking off his +hat and contemplating its wet surface. "But if your devotion to +science is so keen, why not donate your carcass after death? It will +mean much more to them." + +"Now as to that," Bannerman lifted his finger admonishingly, "I don't +know. I'm sensitive about it. No, I shouldn't like it at all. But +here I am, quite willing to give my living carcass. I'd stand up +before them and say: Gentlemen, watch! In another moment a pain will +light up somewhere else, and you may draw your conclusions +accordingly. Then we would all wait breathlessly, and suddenly, when +it catches me here in the forearm my hand would fly to the spot, and +they'd all say: Ah, there! ... there must be something right there. +And they would all fall on their notebooks and write: Right forearm, +peculiarly vicious; twinges every two minutes. Don't you think it's +a brilliant plan?" + +"I think it's plain exhibitionism. But incidentally, if it gratifies +you at all to know it, you're probably developing a first-class case +of neuritis. If I were you I'd give up painting for a while." + +"Hm ... neuritis," Bannerman said suspiciously. "What are the +symptoms?" + +"Oh no ... oh no," Levine chortled. "You don't get _me_ to tell the +symptoms. People develop too much pride about such matters. A woman +that I had for a client once got very confidential with me, and came +into my office one day, sick ... sick as a dog. This was wrong with +her and that was wrong with her, and half a dozen other things, that +she recounted for a half-hour in a heartbroken voice." Levine +stopped to wring his hat into the bowl where Bannerman's wet napkin +was floating. "Well, by the time she was through I decided she was a +perfect case of catarrhal enteritis. Yes, sir, I built up a +beautiful case for her, by picking a symptom here and a symptom +there--those that I needed, you understand--and discarding others +that didn't help the case. And then, when we were all through and +she was quite enthusiastic, a dreadful thing happened. 'Do you have +diarrhœa?' I asked. 'Are your excreta green in color?' No ... no +... that wasn't the case at all. Conditions were quite otherwise in +fact. 'Very well, then,' I said, 'it isn't catarrhal enteritis at +all.' Would you believe it ... she was completely broken up! She +wilted, she was crushed. I tried to fix it for her when I saw how +disappointed she was. We searched together among all the other +symptoms, those we had discarded, to see whether there was anything +we had overlooked that might fit in. There wasn't, of course. Her +case was completely ruined. 'Madam,' I said, 'go to a specialist. +This matter is very complicated.' And she did, and she called me up +some weeks later, and she was just chirping with happiness. 'He +says,' she said over the telephone, 'it's a _perfect_ case of an +infected liver.' Emphasis on the perfect, you understand. Yes, my +boy, it was so perfect that she died of it a month later. Why she +had to. What's that you're making?" + +Bannerman covered the object he was working on. "It's a doll," he +said sheepishly. + +"Really? Well, why not?" + +"Oh, I wouldn't bother with a thing like this if I weren't called +upon to do it. It's for a bazar. Several well-known artists have +been asked to make dolls and I'm among them. Do you know about the +Young People's Philanthropic League? It's a wonderful idea. No one +can belong unless they're under twenty-three. The idea," he +concluded sententiously, "is to enlist the youth of the country." + +"Yes ... I see. Some old procuress runs it, I suppose?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"There are some women," Levine began, striding about the studio and +whirling his arms in an effort to dry himself, "_old_ women, who, +finding that they can no longer solicit men, compromise by soliciting +youth. Young people become a sex to them ... a disgusting vice. I'm +right, that an old woman runs it?" + +Bannerman looked thoughtfully before him. "Well, there's Mrs. +Wainwright," he said slowly, "a sort of preserved woman. But come to +think of it now, she does give you the feeling of being old as mother +earth, just because she's so preserved. Incidentally, Levine, you're +sprinkling water on that picture. There's the faucet in the bathroom +that I use as a hatrack." + +"Yes, I saw one of them the other day," Levine continued after a +temporary retirement to the bathroom. "I was standing on the steps +of the library and she came sailing along with her victims, and +mounted the steps and took out all sorts of banners and posters, and +prepared for some sort of demonstration. Whew! ... how she reeked of +being old. And in the midst of it, while she was fluttering around +and giving directions, she stopped before one of the rather +better-looking girls, and chirps out: What I like about you young +people is your _youngness_. Yes, take my word for it. Whenever a +movement has the word youth in it, be sure one of these old +procuresses runs it." + +Bannerman continued to look thoughtful for a while and then sighed by +way of dismissing the problem. "Well, anyway," he said, "they're +running this bazar and all the well-known artists are making dolls +for it. No specifications as to what sort of dolls ... so I had a +very original idea. Now the others, I'm sure, are all making _dolls_ +... the usual pretty little girls. I," Bannerman continued, removing +the cloth from his work with a spectacular flourish, "am making a +man-doll. Levine, what do you say to that?" + +Levine gave a long appreciative whistle. "Not bad! Not bad at all," +he said crisply, holding the doll at arm's length. "Complete ... +horribly complete. Shoes, laces, socks, tie, and ... can it be? +Cuff buttons. How did you manage it all, Bannerman? It's marvelous. +There isn't a thing omitted. Marvelous ... these little buttons in +the crutch of his pants." + +Flushing at Levine's praise, Bannerman took the doll and balanced it +tenderly on his palm. "It's quite an idea, isn't it, to make a +man-doll. I thought it would make a hit. And when I thought of +doing it, I decided to make it complete, as you say. No point to it +otherwise." + +Levine was studying it with narrowed eyes. "Bannerman," he began, +"come to think of it, you've hit off one of the major faults of our +American civilization." + +Bannerman nodded approval. + +"I mean the complete degeneration of dolls. Do you realize what has +happened to dolls in this country? How completely they've been +feminized? A degenerate fate, a terrible fate for a noble and +ancient species. Take any of the dolls of ancient civilizations. We +find they are always man-dolls, and always beautifully complete. But +here in America, the doll--" + +"Precisely," Bannerman finished. "In fact that's how I got the idea. +I saw some Chinese dolls in a window, male of the species, and +something of what you said struck me then and there. It's a +beginning ... a humble beginning." + +"And what is the purpose of the doll?" Levine continued with a +rhetorical wave of his hand. "To throw the civilized being into +relief by means of miniature. Very good. Yet what will excavators +two thousand years from now, let us say, be able to learn about +Americans today, if there should be only dolls to go by? After a +while, having found nothing but women dolls, they will exclaim with +horror: What, were there no men in those times?" + +Bannerman, absorbed in adjusting an infinitesimal belt around the +waist of his man-doll, nodded cordially at Levine's harangue. The +pins in his mouth made him pucker his lips and scowl. "I can't talk +while I'm doing this," he announced thickly, as soon as there was +only one pin left in his mouth. "If you don't mind, Levine, play by +yourself a while. If you want to see Poldy's pictures, they're off +in that corner. Truth is, I've never taken the wrappings off. +You'll have to undress them yourself." + +Except for occasional grunts from Bannerman, when operations on the +doll became too difficult, and the sound of Levine's movements as he +unwound the cloth from Poldy's pictures, there was silence in the +room. Levine worked awkwardly, making too many motions around the +canvas, and all but stepping into one of the pictures. As they +emerged he stood them against the wall, scarcely looking at them, +reserving them for a time when they could be contemplated at leisure. +"What sort of a chap was this Poldy?" he asked. + +Bannerman, with his lips shut severely on the pins, looked at Levine +and shrugged his shoulders. + +"I thought he came here to paint." + +Bannerman nodded. After a while he removed the pins, putting his +hand to his mouth with a motion as if he had just eaten a cherry and +wanted to get rid of the pit. "Look at his portrait," he said, +noisily sucking back a thread of saliva. "He did the usual +self-portrait. Not a bad likeness, either. About the only one of +his pictures that he did well. Personally, I don't think much of a +painter who doesn't do women." + +Standing away from it, his head to one side, Levine studied Poldy's +self-portrait for a long time. "Rather good-looking," he pronounced +slowly. "Yes, quite good-looking. The dark and romantic type." + +"Too much jaw-bone," Bannerman said. + +"A little, perhaps. Makes the face weak ... too Christ-like." + +"Yes, I think myself he was the weak sort." Bannerman's voice came +muffled and distant from the closet in which he was rummaging. "He +used to tear in here at any time of the day ... or night, for that +matter, to paint something that was on his mind. Now one never has +to be so urgent about things. The results are always better if you +take it easy. Then there wasn't any scheme or central idea in his +work as far as I could figure out ... no vision. Then take his +peculiar attitude towards his money. It sort of frightened him. He +went pale if you mentioned it, looked almost guilty..." Bannerman's +voice grew fainter and trailed off into silence. He emerged and took +up the man-doll again, his face once more severe and concentrated +above it. "The hair," he mused in the interval between pins, "will +give me a lot of trouble. Whether it should be straight or curly..." + +"Make him bald." + +Bannerman continued to work in silence. "Straight will make him too +ferocious," he mused again, "curly is too effeminate. Did you say +make him bald?" + +"Make him bald, I said." + +"But why?" + +"Because," and Levine felt his own hair ruefully, "baldness is the +formal hair-comb of the civilized American, isn't it? It's always +been a sign of civilization to do something decorative with the hair, +so he solves the problem by letting it fall out. Behold in me a +living example." He stroked his hair, rubbing the thinning surfaces +with a woebegone look. "Bannerman," he sighed, "take my word for it. +There's nothing more formal, more civilized than baldness." + +"Curly..." Bannerman said wistfully. For a long time he held the +doll on his palm, his eye fixed tenderly and speculatively on its +tiny celluloid scalp. Then he put it down and began to stretch +himself to a loud vocal accompaniment, in the midst of which he +paused abruptly to pluck off the little white threads that clung to +his bathrobe. These he rolled between his fingers into a pill of +perfect roundness, which he carefully mounted on a wooden cube. + +"Personally," he began, carrying the cube aloft with sacrificial +solemnity, "I don't think much of painters who don't do women. Now a +woman's body is all you need. There isn't any arrangement of planes +or masses that you can't achieve with a little ... research. And the +chances for composition are endless ... positively endless. And +then, what's equally important--in addition to pure composition, you +have the woman there too. Instead of--" He shuddered and looked +fearfully in the direction of Poldy's pictures, "oranges!" + +Levine did not answer, too absorbed in unwrapping the pictures, and +Bannerman put the cube down on a table in the center of the room and +stepped back, surveying the arrangement with his head on one side. +In the midst of his survey, however, his face suddenly contorted +itself into a comic expression of pain, he collapsed groaning into a +chair. "I swear to you, Levine, I swear that two muscles changed +places just then. Oh lord, oh lord ... why do my muscles play leap +frog inside of me?" + +"Where was it?" + +"Here ... right here in the shoulder blade." + +"Yes, just where it would be. Take my advice," Levine said, setting +one of Poldy's pictures against the wall, "and give up painting for a +while." + +For a long time Bannerman sat there, lifting his hand from time to +time to his shoulder, with a fearful expression. He rose after a +while and walked about the room, picking his steps carefully, as if +he had the pains nicely balanced and did not want to jar them. Then +he fetched an apple from out of the confusion of his paint tubes, and +sat down again, holding it in his hand. When Levine looked round in +the fading light, he saw Bannerman's plump white fingers vaguely and +brightly outlined against the apple, and for a moment he had the +feeling that the fingers were a five-petalled calyx, part of the +fruit, and that Bannerman would have to pry them away. He felt sorry +for his friend. Though there was too much flesh to Bannerman, it did +not barricade him in, but seemed rather to be porous ... to leave him +more exposed than others. And he tried to carry it off so gallantly, +his head ticking from side to side when he walked, a light +accompaniment to the major lilt of his body. It struck Levine for +the first time, when he saw his friend sitting there with the apple, +that he had always to be holding something; and after the core had +been slowly and analytically consumed, he observed how Bannerman sat +and rubbed his finger-tips lightly against each other, the +auto-erotic play of his fingers when there was nothing to hold. But +at length Bannerman rose and gathered his bath-robe around him. He +announced that he would take a bath, in a tone of finality which +seemed to indicate that this would solve everything. Soon sounds of +splashing and singing emerged from the bathroom. + +Left alone with the pictures, Levine was able to look at them more +carefully. None of them had names, he noticed, and only one bore a +signature almost illegibly scrawled ... Leopold Crayle. Another, the +profile of a woman with dark flowing hair and protruding teeth, had +writing on it: Hold this upside down. He did this, and so regarded, +the profile took on a strange quality, the teeth growing out of the +flesh like shining white petals. Levine stared at it for a long time. + +Besides this there was a picture of three oranges floating against a +black background that might have been a curtain; their surfaces were +of a bright unnatural yellow, and in one there had been an attempt to +present a mottled skin, but all that it looked like was a rash of +green dots. There was a boy leaning out of a window, his hair of a +fiery red; a landscape in the midst of which rose a mountain shaped +like a pyramid, sculpted into steps on one side, and a tall +white-robed figure standing on the third step. On the top of the +mountain a goat-like animal stood with one foot lifted, and at the +base three-quarters of a sun was visible, with rays of every bright +color. There was a strange animal floating through a rain of stars, +with five red-colored teats arranged between its dainty curved legs. +And the last picture showed a group of kitchen objects on a dazzling +white table-cloth. All these Levine looked at. He saw that the +drawing was bad and the paint laid on thick and uneven. Yet there +was something in the pictures that held his attention. In the +darkness of the room a dazzling brightness of color radiated from +them, it seemed that all the yellow in the world had converged on the +three oranges. Though he could not guess at the meaning of the +mountain and the goat-like animal on top, or the strange creature +with floating legs that went through the sky, he saw that the artist +had caught the brightness of things, seeing as a child does, perhaps +... dazzling color before shape or meaning can be discerned ... and +that the sense of this brightness had been so urgent and terrible +that he had forced his hand into drawing it. And then there was that +other picture which Levine had come specially to see, the one of +Marah Howard. Here too there was a brightness to be caught, but not +to be snared so easily by color. As Levine studied the picture, +holding it on his knees and peering at it in the dim light, he saw +that Poldy had faithfully remembered the small child-like features, +and faithfully traced the perfect oval of her face. But the eyes +looked out at him too brightly. He knew this was wrong, he knew by +heart the calm glance of those eyes, that always seemed to have just +alighted with the simple and indifferent movement of a bird. Her +hair was straight, falling away from each side of the swift part, and +curling up at the ends; and it had pleased Poldy to paint it in +separate sheaves, so that she seemed to be wearing long brown petals +drooping downward. Studying this caprice of the artist, Levine +realized how much more faithful it was to her than any literal +portraiture. In the formal yet child-like headdress, the two natures +in her were expressed ... that mixture of child and woman which +seemed to be reflected also in her body ... in the slight flexible +torso and the slow-moving limbs. It seemed always as if she had just +paused from swift motion, as if a heaviness were creeping into her +limbs, a transformation growing on her from the earth; her body, like +that of the maidens in mythology, always on the point of beginning +its tree-life. This too Poldy must have observed. But in the +picture there was no hint of that fluent motion which her body +possessed, whether still or moving; the figure stood heavily in the +canvas, with one hand needlessly, foolishly upraised. In an access +of anger at this gesture, Levine put the portrait from him, resentful +that Poldy had clutched at this brightness, feeling a sudden +revulsion for the pictures that stood before him. Decidedly Poldy +would not come back. There was nothing here to recall him, perhaps +he had even forgotten the paintings. And even if he remembered, yet +what was there to come back to? Here, for a moment, Poldy had tried +to possess the bewildering world in some way, to create a unity for +himself ... and there were only absurd fragments. His mind dwelled +in the shadowed periphery of things ... what center was sufficiently +bright to lure him and hold him? For a time, perhaps, he had seen in +Marah the central brightness of all things, he had probably come one +night in haste to paint her, to possess her in that way along with +whatever else dazzled him. Again Levine studied the portrait, with +its intently staring eyes and petal hair, and the grotesque +admonishing gesture, and his gorge rose with anger against Poldy. +And yet, he reflected bitterly, had he himself any right to +possession? Not, certainly, by that act which constitutes the +technical ownership of a woman, not by any token except his own +desire. That he should desire her physically! There was, to Levine, +something infinitely humiliating in this, a sense that he had been +tricked ... tricked into a wish that, by the profoundest standards of +his being, he knew to be false to himself ... yet from which there +was no escape until it had been fulfilled. And he knew that the +whole burden of it rested with him. She was too secure in herself +either to desire him or repel him. She would never give him a sign, +imprisoned as she was in the perfect balance of her nature ... the +balancing of mind and body against each other to the point of +complete stillness. He knew that she could only take him passively, +when the time came that he willed it. + +Then why did he hesitate? What was it that caused him to hesitate, +torturing himself day after day, ashamed when he thought of it, and +unable to put it from his mind? It was a time for pairing off, he +reflected. There was nothing else to do in the world, of any +importance. It was a time when men and women paired off like +children playing on the shore, saying: "Here we will dig a hole and +see what comes into our cup." So that each couple caught from the +sea a tiny circle of brackish water. "It will be brackish..." Levine +said to himself, and the word satisfied him for a moment and seemed +to make things clearer. + +Bitterly pondering these things, Levine walked back and forth in the +dark studio, taking a zigzag path through the statues and pictures. +Meanwhile he was conscious of a presence in the room, something +watching him with a cunning infinitesimal eye. He stooped down in +the dark and looked at Bannerman's man-doll. "Yes, complete..." he +said again, "terribly complete..." Holding it gingerly in his +fingers, he carried the doll to the mantle and turned it with its +back to the room. Tired now and bewildered, he sat down in an old +rocker and shut his eyes. And now he remembered Poldy again, and +what he had written ... hold this upside down. In those words he +beheld all the vastness of Poldy's dream. He heard also their +infinite pleading. + + +2 + +Early next morning Levine was awakened by the telephone. "Be up," a +voice commanded. "I'll be over in ten minutes with important news." +He recognized the voice of his colleague, a slight lisp in it that +always flashed before his mind the vision of a pink tongue struggling +against large teeth. Reluctantly Levine started to dress, feeling +stiff from a sleepless night, and unequal to the impending interview. +When he was ready he went to the door and unlocked it, then sat down +at the desk, his hands clasped patiently before him. And this +fore-handed unlocking of the door, this posture of waiting at the +desk, were strange to him. Strange also to find that he could not +bring himself to say come in, when he heard the knocking. Clandon +knocked several times, waited, coughed, rattled the knob and +discovered he could enter. "Don't you ever lock this door?" he asked +as he hung up his hat and sat down opposite Levine. He took a +newspaper from his pocket and laid it folded before him. +Unconsciously imitating Levine's immobile pose, he clasped his hands +over it. + +"Levine," he said impressively, "the Eldridge case is cleared up. +Last night at 8:55 Smith confessed. Out of a clear sky ... suddenly +called for his lawyer and sat down on the bed and recited it from +beginning to end. Out of a clear sky, mind you, after he'd been +holding out so long that some people almost began to think he was +innocent. Look at that." He unfolded the paper and held it up +before him like a bulletin. "'Smith confesses under attorney's +cross-fire.'" + +Levine looked at the headlines. "What of it?" he asked. + +"What _of_ it! That's a silly question, it seems to me." Clandon's +face emerged above the paper with lifted eyebrows. "Can't you see +that if Smith confessed, Konig is likely to do it, too? They catch +it from each other. Why, it's--it's tremendously important," he +spluttered, his face reddening. "It will shorten the prosecution by +months." + +Levine lowered his eyes, as if the headlines that Clandon held before +him were too bright. + +"Shorten it by months, I say, a question of months. The best thing +that could happen just now. Once Konig hears of it, he'll tell, all +right. You see if the contagion doesn't get him. Yes ... nothing, I +repeat, nothing that we could think of could have been more fortunate +for us at this moment." + +"Not that," he continued briskly, unfolding a packet of legal papers, +"I haven't just the right questions for the next grilling. Sat up +all night fixing them, and somewhere among them, you can be sure, is +_the_ question ... the one that always betrays them. You never can +tell which one it is, but it's always there. Remember, Levine, what +I always say when things begin to drag. Keep turning corners. Never +go straight ahead. Keep turning corners. Suddenly you'll turn the +right corner and find what you want. Keep asking questions. +Suddenly you'll find the right question. Read them." He handed the +packet to Levine, and waited with his head thrown back, studying the +ceiling. "Good, don't you think?" he asked, when the papers were +returned to him and he was folding them back in his wallet. Levine +did not answer, and midway in his manœuvers Clandon paused, his +head half turned away, looking at Levine with a coquettish smile. +"Good, don't you think?" + +"I think they're quite good." + +"Rather ... rather. Something there that's sure to trip him up. +We've got to make more of a to-do, I decided, over his failure to +mention the money he borrowed. The big question is, the crux of the +whole situation is: Why did he hide the fact that he borrowed money +from her?" + +Levine mused. "Four dollars ... the sum was so small he was probably +ashamed of it." + +"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," Clandon snapped. "Just where +you're wrong! _Because_ the sum was so small, why should he hide it? +Why? unless there was a pretty good reason for it. Now if he had +borrowed four hundred dollars, or forty, or even fourteen, let us +say--yes, even so small a sum as fourteen, then one could understand +a certain desire to conceal it. He doesn't want us to know how far +he was indebted to his victim. Now that's logical. But when a man +goes out of his way to conceal the fact that he borrowed four +dollars, out of his way, mind you..." he finished by shaking his head +solemnly. + +"I'll tell you what," Levine said, rousing himself with too much +energy from the reverie into which he had fallen while Clandon spoke. +"We'll go over the questions again this afternoon. I'll be at your +office at three, how's that?" + +"You just saw them." + +"Yes, but I want to read them more carefully, that's all. Just now, +when you handed them to me, I merely glanced at them. The truth +is..." he paused and looked imploringly at Clandon, trying to placate +his fierce stare, "I merely counted them. Thirty, aren't there?" + +"Thirty!" the word clicked. Clandon paused, his hat suspended above +him, arrested in its descent on the thin yellowish hair. In that +posture he stood and surveyed Levine, his eyes moving deliberately +from the bright hexagonal glasses down to Levine's red slippers. +"Nothing to change, I hope?" + +"No, I think not. In fact I'm sure of it. I just want to look them +over when I'm less tired." + +"As you say," Clandon answered with elaborate courtesy. "At three, +then, in my office. You might, however, read the account of Smith's +confession before that. Only for Smith read Konig. 'Konig confesses +under attorney's cross-fire.' How does that sound to you?" His +voice came back in an indrawn falsetto. "Try it over ... try it +over," he sang from the doorway. + +Levine took the paper and began to read; but just as Clandon was +disappearing, he looked up as if reminded of something. + +"Konig can't confess," he said sharply, "unless he's guilty." + +The door was hastily shut and Clandon turned and stared at him. "Do +you doubt it?" he asked softly. + +"I don't know..." + +A perceptible time elapsed before Clandon spoke again, with +forefinger wagging impressively. "All I can say, Levine, all I can +say, is that such an attitude on your part makes the prosecution of +the case extremely difficult. Besides, it's unheard of. I might say +it foredooms us to defeat. It would be better to resign now, Levine, +than to go on in this spirit. But fortunately ... fortunately for +us, I _know_ he is guilty." + +"How do you know?" + +Again Clandon looked at Levine, curiously, as if his friend had +suddenly changed color before his eyes. "By the evidence," he +snapped, and stopped. The tip of his tongue struggled ineffectually +against his teeth, and above this struggle his eyes looked at Levine +with mute reproach. At last he turned and slammed the door behind +him. + +* * * * * * * + +Levine put the paper away from him with an expression of infinite +disgust. There was a tightening in his throat, as if each detail +that he had been reading had crammed him too full. He was not +interested in the confession, he read almost without grasping the +meaning of the sentences. What struck him was the routine of things +... how, once Smith had announced a desire to confess, one step +followed inevitably on the other. It seemed as if a machinery was +set in motion over which no one had any control, and that there was +no end or purpose to it, and yet the motions had to start at a +certain cue and could not stop themselves. It was this nausea with +the routine of it that Levine felt now, that made him put the paper +aside with the swift angry movement of one who has suddenly had +enough. + +He rose to walk off his anger. Yes, Clandon was a fool, he +reflected, with his turning the right corner, his theory of the +question. In his own time a man confessed. Nothing that others +could do to him could hasten that time. Had there not been the case, +some time ago, of Edward Reddick ... who, a year after others had +been tried for his crime and acquitted, had written to the police +announcing himself as the murderer? And when they refused to heed +it, had he not come in person and proved to them step by step that he +was guilty? Because, Levine told himself, a man can be glutted with +his crime; he can have too much of it to keep to himself, and when +that time came he vomited it out, and then one said he confessed. +Glutted ... that was the word to remember ... and strangely enough, +with that word his irritation passed. He sat down on the bed, and +feeling calm again, began to take off his slippers and change into +his shoes. He remembered now how Clandon had looked just before he +turned and slammed the door. Those eyes glaring fiercely at him +above the struggling tongue and teeth ... what were they like? You +might think of the prow of a ship with a struggling of waves at its +base, and two lights staring steadfastly above them. Clandon's eyes +were the lights and his tongue and teeth churned under them. The +pity of it ... that Clandon had been unable to say what he wanted. +Levine smiled to himself as he finished tying his shoes, deftly +tightening the bows. + +But he was still bending over when the telephone rang again. The +sudden anger that filled him projected him across the room, but there +he stopped as if paralyzed. He seemed to be trying to speak to the +instrument above the anger in his throat and the noise of the +ringing, and at last the words came harshly from him.... "What do +you want ... what do you want of me?" An expression of defiance +settled on his face, he stared at the telephone as if to show it that +he would brazen out the ringing. And not until it had stopped did he +turn away, to lie on the bed feeling ill and exhausted from his +paroxysm. For the time that he lay there his mind was a complete +void, until a question, sounding distinctly in the room as though +someone were speaking it, made him sit up again. Who is glutted? ... +the question said. + +Yes, how strange that he had not understood before this that the word +applied to himself. And having found the word, one had, he +reflected, already found the solution. It was clear that he could +not go on with his work. The steps he must take were simple and +inevitable: first to see Clandon and tell him that he would resign +from the Konig case ... then he could reflect on the next move. +Perhaps to go away. That too was obvious. But where and for what +purpose? Well, later he could answer those questions. It was +sufficient now to know that he must go away, escape somewhere. It +was foolish, foolish to talk only of criminals confessing. There was +a time when everyone became glutted with what he was doing. Now it +was his own turn to confess... + +Then he must call Clandon to cancel the three o'clock appointment. +With that the solution began immediately. But then what reason to +give? What could he say, so that Clandon would not come around to +protest? Why not go there at three and count the questions again? +Levine lifted the receiver, keeping his thumb on the hook. He held +it to his ear for a moment, and then put it back, softly, as though +someone might overhear him. Suddenly all his anger was concentrated +on Clandon. It was Clandon who bound him to everything, who stood +before him blocking the way to escape, with his tongue and teeth +churning foolishly in his face. Again Levine made an effort to call +him, clenching his hand around the stem of the telephone as if he +would crush it. A voice kept asking for the number, and he listened, +trying to think of the number, unable to recall it, though a moment +before it had been in his mind. Then very softly, in fear of being +overheard by the voice, he put the receiver back. He spoke out loud: +Sit down ... sit down, you fool, and think... + +What was he doing ... what was happening to him? Think.... But he +did not think. He was only aware of himself sitting at the desk and +resting his head on his hands ... he could only recall everything he +had done since Clandon left, with a sudden sense of the strangeness +of his behavior and a realization of his loneliness--the loneliness +of his anger which no one saw. Now he felt like someone groping in a +dark room, who becomes aware, because of the darkness, of all the +gestures he makes ... stretching his arms in front of him, letting +his hand crawl along the table, frowning and pursing his lips. In a +dark room ... who could see him or hear? Twice he had spoken out +loud... + +And only a moment ago the solution seemed so clear ... Then finding +the right word, Levine reflected bitterly, was not enough. Now, +having come to the end of all words, he longed for unconsciousness, +for a way to forget himself, even if it was only being absorbed in +some casual trifling thing that was near him. In his childhood, he +recalled, this had always been the solution ... the tired drifting +reverie that came when his passion was over. And now, remembering +this, he raised his head and stared before him, and let himself +become absorbed with the pattern of the wall-paper, tracing the +intricate winding of it ... until for a while he did forget himself. +Then he found something else ... the two gold oblongs in the wall, +each with its black electric socket; and for the first time he noted +that they were close to each other, one oblong put in vertically and +the other horizontally ... and merely noting this fact gave him a +curious indifferent pleasure. And then he seemed to see Bannerman +standing near them, as if it were a picture he had painted, and +Bannerman waved his hands at the electric plugs and said: "Well, what +do you think of _that_?" After which Bannerman stepped back and put +his head on one side and continued: "Good, isn't it! You see the +idea ... I'll explain it to you. There are two women and they're +both fat. Only one is fat latitudinally, and the other is fat +longitudinally. It is," Bannerman concluded profoundly, "the _idea_ +of the picture." + +Then Levine's reverie shifted to Marah ... He thought of her +sleeping; her dancing body, having taken all its poses while it was +awake, lying straight and still now in a negation of them ... in a +gesture that was an erasure of all dancing. He saw the straight +limbs with their perfectly carved cheek of muscle, blue-gold with +hair and veins; and the faint line of the thighs, where the thighs +are cupped in an ancient attitude of prayer. Her body lay immobile, +no other pattern to it than its own intrinsic lines. Her body lay +remote from him and unattainable ... and, having come to this word, +Levine knew that his thoughts had reached their completion. And +again he tried to assign the blame ... whether it was his own fault, +the fear--no, the _faith_--that it would taste brackish to him; or +whether it was the perfect circle of Marah's nature, as yet so +shut-in and complete that nothing could enter it ... + +And again finding no answer to this question, he gave himself over to +the story of how they had met ... a story that he told himself often, +hoping to find some comfort in it, a little assurance that they were +in some way fated to each other, because of the strange and devious +way in which they had met. But here a voice said with sarcastic +inflection, "Strange and devious?" And Levine had to stop and +explain patiently that for him to have acted impulsively was indeed +strange and devious. "Over-emphasis, then," the voice said sharply, +adding, "she is merely the foil for your impulse." He smiled +bitterly in acknowledgment, admitting that it was true he had never +seen her clearly ... But rather than go astray any further in these +thoughts, he gave himself over to the story, beginning with that hot +crowded day when he had been walking through the streets ... so tired +that he seemed to move on the larger propelling motion of the crowd, +rather than by his own efforts. + +Merely for a place to rest he had entered a theatre, and spent the +first numbers in accustoming his eyes to the dark, uneasy in the vast +auditorium until he could discern the balconies and arched dome; and +the faint outline of faces all around him, that looked so listlessly, +so somnolently at everything that passed before them. By an effort +he concentrated on the stage. Dancers were moving there, black +silhouettes that seemed intent on a business of their own, +indifferent to anyone watching. He found himself following one +dancer through all the intricate threading to and fro, because, he +thought, of something familiar in her gestures. And as this +conviction grew, a feeling of intense excitement rose within him, he +had the illusion that he could see her face and that he had known it +for a long time. He thought too he could see the expression of her +eyes, changing with the movements of her head. + +Later he knew that this sense of recognition had been only a memory +... the composite memory of women which he had gathered all his life, +of all the women he had ever seen dancing swiftly and joyously in +pictures; and that now it was concentrated, suddenly and with the +terrific force of something too long diffused. But at the time +nothing had seemed strange to him. When he came in from the street +he was committed to a new world and to a mood of acceptance; and +nothing that he thought or felt at the time surprised him. Besides, +he knew that whenever he was too tired things like that happened. +Through the breach in his consciousness that tiredness made, old +sentimentalities flowed in ... feelings that he was inclined to laugh +at otherwise. And they came with a special vengeance, because he had +withstood them so long... + +He had hardly noticed the rest of the performance, all his senses +dazed with a new feeling. And it had not occurred to him that he +would ever have to leave the theatre, until there was a concerted +movement of people going out. But, as he drifted out with them, he +had stopped, hardly aware a second beforehand that he was going to do +it ... and inquired the way backstage of one of the ushers. After +that, the moments of standing confused and self-conscious in endless +corridors, wondering which way to turn, while a young man in +shirt-sleeves stared at him, and shifted his pipe in his mouth to +stare better ... then asked Levine a question that demanded his +telling the whole story. Incredible it was to be standing in that +corridor telling what he wanted to the young man in shirt sleeves. +He was, perhaps, dreaming aloud and consciously; and a specially +painful moment in his dream came when the young man took the pipe +from his mouth and held it suspended in air, as if this was a sight +that required staring at with all his features. + +She had not looked as he imagined. He was not even sure that she was +the one whose movements he watched in the theatre. Yet what did it +matter? Of its own momentum, now, the adventure went on ... she was +for all times identified with the dancing figure he had singled out. +He remembered also that she had not laughed. Recalling it now, +Levine pressed his hands to his forehead, pressed his eyes until he +could see them wavering in his palms.... trying to savor again the +wonder of that moment when he spoke and she had not laughed. But the +next moment something made his hands fly apart, he looked out at the +room, wide-eyed and thoughtful. Was it that which bound him to her, +then ... his gratitude for her not laughing? Somberly, his glance +transfixed, Levine considered ... It would be a strange thing if he +was bound all his life, only because of his gratitude for that +moment; if all along he had been deceiving himself, and only now the +mechanism of it was clear to him. The mechanism of it ... he smiled +at that word. How many words are coming to me today, he thought. +But he covered his eyes again, and something within him said wearily: +what of it ... what of it. People were bound to each other in +stranger ways... + +At last Levine rose and went over to the mirror. He put his glasses +on and a new expression came into his face.. He leaned forward and +studied his reflection curiously. "You're a strange fellow, Levine," +he said aloud. "You always think you have escaped, but something..." +he leaned closer, "something always overtakes you." And now it +seemed like a very easy thing to call up Clandon and say he would not +come. + + +3 + +At three o'clock that afternoon he was walking with Marah. The +morning was far away. Of all the morning turmoil only one question +remained, and this kept going through his head with a rhythm that was +part joyous surprise, part reproach. The question was: did you +believe in this ... Because it was so good to be walking with her, he +knew that he should have believed in it that morning; he knew that if +he had only taken the time to believe it, nothing could have troubled +him from that moment forth. + +Did you believe in this ... It was always his custom, he told himself +as he strode along ... conscious of Marah's quick and irregular steps +beside him ... never to believe in the next moment. When he +despaired there was no future time ... from the earliest years of his +life he remembered it was so. He remembered the long nights when he +lay awake, tortured by the conviction that his suffering would not +end; and how, strangely and unexpectedly, there had always been the +next day. How, also, the custom had developed of asking himself: did +you believe in this ... And now, with the same old ring of delight +and reproach the question long forgotten returned to him. "Fool ... +fool," he laughed to himself. "It was so simple." + +He was walking fast, gaining momentum with each step, until he lost +the sense of movement and was aware of it only by the flight of trees +and bushes beside him. Though Marah tried to keep up with him she +had to make little running steps now and then, and she laughed softly +at this as if she were cheating him in a game. There was a certain +impersonality in the air ... neither sun nor wind, yet the air was a +sharp and definite presence. Behind them as they walked the +buildings of the city lost in height and distinctness, and one time +when Levine glanced back they seemed to have moved closer together +and to be crouching in ambuscade. + +"Look, Marah," he cried with delighted surprise, "doesn't it seem to +you the buildings have moved closer together? Doesn't it seem as if +they had been watching us pass, and like people when they watch +something strange passing, they move closer together as the strange +thing goes farther away?" + +They laughed together, and Marah had to study the effect with +narrowed eyes before they turned and continued on their way. But +they had gone only a short distance ahead when something darted from +the bushes and flew against her face, stinging with the impact of its +wings. She turned her cheek to Levine, fearful that there was a mark +on it. + +"I don't think so," Levine answered, stopping to inspect it. + +"They say," Marah observed, shutting her eyes, her face upturned for +Levine's inspection, "that if you take the honey away from bees in +winter, you must give them sugar instead." + +"Yes, you have to make candy for them." + +"And they say that if bees have no place to put their honey they +suffer terribly." + +"Yes, I've heard that you have to build them a place to put their +honey. If you don't, they go elsewhere." He examined her cheek +carefully once more and released her. "Why, it's nothing," he said +gaily, "only the force of the wings that hurt you. Now you would +think that if you stayed twenty yards away from a bee-hive and +molested them from that distance, you would be absolutely safe. But +a friend of mine says he once shot into a hive twenty yards away and +they flew for him anyway..." + +As they strode manfully ahead, echoes of their talk lingered in +Levine's mind. It seemed to him, after a while, that in speaking of +the bees they had just been speaking of a strange people, and he +thought this over, remembering that it had often been so in his +boyhood. In his boyhood, he remembered, they used to sit around +recounting to each other the habits of an animal ... saying, for +instance, they never attack; or, they spend most of their time in +water; or, they hide all winter. And then it happened that the +animal they were telling about became so mysterious to him, so much +like an eccentric person, that he used to think it was listening to +them, he had even been frightened of its presence while they talked. +But now it was good to have this feeling again ... the second time in +their walk that a definite gesture of his boyhood came back to him. +It made him laugh and catch Marah's hand as she ran her few steps to +keep up with him. "Very well, then, a little slower..." + +But he could not go more slowly, he could not help striking the trees +as he passed or leaping for the low branches. Marah glanced at him +shyly and tried not to notice that he missed the branches every time. +She had never before known him to behave so much like a small boy, to +laugh so unreasonably; and because of this there was a heaviness in +her heart. In his strange gaiety she felt a subtle threat to +herself, she knew the heaviness in her heart for fear ... the fear +that today she would no longer be able to escape him. For a while +she smiled in response to his gaiety with an abstracted air, as +someone does who is busy and has to be companionable to a child. But +after a time his sudden irresponsible outbursts of laughter repelled +her, she found that she did not want to look any more at his huge +body leaping up for the branches. "Let's sit down," she said +sharply, and stopped short. "I'm tired." So they found a shaded +circle of grass, ringed in with boulders that served, as they rested, +for backs. But Levine, his gaiety suddenly at an end, looked at her +with a puzzled expression. + +* * * * * * * + +After a while Marah took off her hat and crushed it into her pocket. +She thrust her hair back so that it curled in a soft panel for her +face, against which the taut finely-modeled cheeks were more clearly +defined. Swiftly her mood changed. Lying flat on her stomach, her +feet waving in the air, she looked up at Levine ... at his glasses in +which the sun made bright prisms that shifted themselves like a +kaleidoscope whenever he moved. His serious stare she returned with +equal solemnity, and spoke in a solemn manner. + +"Your eyes behind your glasses," she began, "look for all the world +like fish staring out of a bowl ... just as mournful. Tell me, what +do fish think about when they stare out so mournfully?" + +Levine picked up a twig that lay near him, and began to rub a thin +rut into the earth. The twig broke under his hand and he threw it +away. "Shall I tell you what I was thinking about?" he asked slowly. +And in answer to her nod he said, "I was thinking, just then, that I +first fell in love with you on account of your shoes." + +Her eyes widened incredulously. + +"It's the way you lie there," Levine continued earnestly, "that +reminds me of the time when I found you asleep in my room. You were +lying with your face to the wall, and I remember that as I stood +there looking at you I noticed your shoes. They were very tiny, I +remember, with very high heels, and I saw how they were fastened to +your feet. I can't really explain the feeling I had at that moment, +Marah. But then I saw how your feet were imprisoned, and it made me +feel such tenderness for you, and pity..." He ignored her quick +impudent laughter. "I think I began to love you from that moment." + +Her laughter arrested by the constrained tone of his last words, +Marah pondered this. She was about to speak when a party of ragged +little boys appeared in the clearing, held an excited conference, and +all but leaped over her as they continued on their flight. Later +came a straggler, who stopped to say breathlessly, "Which way ... +which way..." But before they could answer he too was off. Marah +looked after him. "So ... you pitied me," she said. + +"But not in the way you think," Levine answered quickly, his eyes +pleading for respite from her mockery. "It was more understanding +than pity, Marah. In that moment I understood how many things bound +you ... how you were bound by your beauty. I saw then that you were +two persons ... the Marah that thought and saw, and the Marah that +men saw. And when I understood that I forgave you a great many +things." + +"Oh, what did you forgive me?" she asked lightly. + +Levine pondered in his turn. "I don't know ... I don't know," he +said slowly. "Perhaps," he added almost to himself, "I think there +is something to forgive because..." + +She caught him up sharply. "Because of what?" + +He looked away, and an involuntary bitter smile curved his lips. +"Because I feel hurt..." he said. + +She did not answer and a long silence fell between them, in which +only the occasional clash of their glances betrayed the interplay of +their thoughts. In this silence they heard people talking and +laughing on the other side of the boulders, and after a while they +knew they were no longer thinking of each other, but only listening +to the words and laughter that drifted toward them. Levine stood up +without warning and spoke in a petulant whisper. "How many people do +you think there are on the other side?" + +Marah listened. "I can distinguish only three voices." + +"And someone who laughs all the time." + +"No, the laugh belongs to the man with the deep voice." + +"No, it belongs to another person who doesn't talk at all, but only +laughs." + +She looked up at him wonderingly. + +"I tell you there's someone there who laughs and doesn't do any +talking," he insisted irritably. "Laughs in a way that nauseates +me." He gathered their things and walked away, looking angrily in +the direction of the voices. His face was red when he sat down and +he did not look at her. "It wouldn't be so bad," he muttered, "if he +said something once in a while." And he seemed so unhappy that she +put her hand on his arm and tried to console him, patting it +awkwardly. "I'm sorry, Joseph. Let's go away from here. We can go +where it's altogether quiet." + +"No, I'm quite all right here, thank you. It's fairly quiet here. +Let me put my head in your lap instead." + +"Do you know what I wish, Marah?" he said after a while, shutting his +eyes against the bright blue of the sky. "I wish I could lie this +way all day, with nothing to do but listen. I wish I could hear the +wind at this moment. There would be something healthful in it...." +He paused, observing thoughtfully the fluted brown trunk of the tree +that shaded them, and the floating branches above it. "Sometimes I +amuse myself," he continued and smiled a little at his own words, "by +thinking of all the sounds that no one hears. When part of a glacier +cracks and rumbles away by itself ... to be present at such a lonely +sound. Or when it thunders, I should like to be alone in the hills, +listening to it. But I would be satisfied at this moment if only I +could hear the wind. It would be healthful for me. Or what do you +say..." he looked up at her, smiling and shading his eyes. "Is it +all because my head is in your lap?" + +Though Marah touched his forehead and the arched line of his eyebrows +lightly with her fingers, in her expression as she looked down at +him, and in that gesture of her fingers, there was something +wondering and remote, something puzzled. She did not speak ... only +in answer to Levine's insistent look she smiled slowly. Then he shut +his eyes and was silent for a long time, she thought he must have +fallen asleep. + +"Joseph ... Joseph," she called softly. + +But he did not stir until a long time after, until the sun came +suddenly through the leaves and touched his face, and he opened his +eyes and looked up at her without surprise, as if she were part of +his dream. "Do I tire you, Marah?" he asked. + +"No, I'm all right." + +"Strange for me to sleep in the day-time," he mused, "and +out-of-doors too." + +"I called to you." + +"Did you? I thought I heard it from very far away, and I tried to +struggle back to you. But it was better to sleep." + +"It's quiet here..." + +"Yes..." He closed his eyes and listened for the quiet, feeling it +all about them, complete and authentic. On his face now was the +expression of a small boy who is content. He reached his hands up to +Marah and drew her face towards him, and kissed her gently. "_Now_ I +am happy..." + +"But this morning," he continued, frowning a little, "do you know +what happened to me this morning, Marah? I was very unhappy, and I +heard a ringing in my ears, and it seemed that the only way I could +forget my unhappiness was to listen to that sound in my ears. But a +voice warned me, 'Don't listen to it.' Because this was like one of +the perils in the fairy-tale ... if you once listened to it, then you +would have to spend your whole life listening to it." He looked up +at her, and there was infinite fear in his eyes. "Marah," he cried +in a low voice, and it seemed as though he were calling to her from a +great distance ... "don't let me listen to it. Help me, Marah, not +to hear it." + +"Do you hear it now?" she asked softly. + +He sighed, as though something that had been troubling him for a long +time was settled at last. After a while he shut his eyes and spoke +with low halting words, seeming to listen for each word first before +he could say it aloud. + +"When I was little, Marah," he said, "I had the dream of spending my +whole life alone on a hill, from which I could see both the rising +and the setting sun. Sometimes that dream comes back to me now ... +the earliest thing I desired, before I knew there were people in the +world. But now it seems sad to me, a little terrifying. And do you +know why it seems that way now? Because your presence has come into +the world ... because all that loneliness of nature that I used to +desire, is now only the loneliness of your not being there. And so +my earliest, my profoundest wish is lost to me ... the impersonal is +lost to me. Do you understand that, Marah? Do you know what I have +lost for you?" + +"If you knew," he continued, looking up at her and smiling again at +his own words, "you would see how humble I am, how dependent on your +favor. Because there is this difference. I could have the other +thing that I desired whenever I wanted it, at my own pleasure. But +having you ... well that, you see, is entirely dependent on you. +Marah, do you see my humility before you?" But when she did not +answer again, he sat up and looked away from her. "You see, at any +rate," he said bitterly, "that I am not ashamed to parade it." + +With a motion that was awkward and swift as a boy's she reached to +him; but Levine mistook the gesture, and she tried to ward him off +with outstretched arms, her eyes averted in terror. But all her +movements to release herself would not avail, and she shut her eyes +against him, waiting passively until he had finished, her face rigid +with its expression of secrecy and fear. He looked at her with +troubled eyes. "What is it, Marah?" he cried. "Dear child of mine, +can't you tell me what it is?" + +But she sat for a long time with eyes half-shut and oblique, and +sighed deeply as if she were trying to awaken herself. From this +trance she turned to him at last, with a look in which there seemed +to be a profound and final understanding of things. "Yes, I think I +know what it is..." she said faintly. But seeing how Levine was +brooding in his turn, his face haggard with displeasure at himself, +she rallied and laughed lightly, and drew close to him with a +penitent gesture. + +"But it's only a superstition," she said, "that occurred to me this +moment." + +"Yes, tell me what it is..." + +Marah folded her hands in her lap and looked before her, her eyes +darkened with their burden of unwilling knowledge. "I believe," she +said slowly, "in this: that nothing can happen to me unless I wished +for it in my childhood ... that everything that does happen to me is +in some way a fulfillment of a wish that I made as a child." She +paused, musing for the right words. "And these wishes," she +continued, "were made without my knowing it, and only by seeing what +happens to me now can I tell what they were. It _seems_ to me so," +she added, frowning a little. "I can't tell why I believe it ... yet +it seems to me so, I think it must be so for everyone." + +Pausing in his motion of feeling the blades of grass between his +thumb and forefinger, Levine pondered her words. + +"Why, that must be true," he nodded gravely. "It seems so to me, +also. But tell me, Marah," he added smiling, "did you wish for me?" + +"I don't know..." she smiled back to him. + +"But it doesn't really matter," he retorted gaily, "because I know +that I wished for you, Marah. I know that." + +"But in a way I did," Marah continued thoughtfully, laying her hand +on his arm and looking at him with steadfast eyes. "Because I +remember that one day in my childhood I made a pact with myself ... +that I must never forget myself, never lose myself in anything that +happened to me. Though why ... _why_ I made the pact," she mused, +"what happened that made me warn myself, that I can't seem to +remember at all. But I remember saying to myself: always _know_ what +is happening to you ... always be watchful..." She stopped and +raised her eyes to him with a swift appealing glance. "Do you +understand that, Joseph?" she asked sadly. "Do you see in what way I +wished for you?" + +He did understand, and to hide from her the completeness and +bitterness of his knowledge, he turned away. Again he felt baffled +by the perfect balance of her nature, that security which kept her +apart from the world, content to be merely watchful. Though he +remembered such a time in his own life, he had also the bitter +knowledge of what followed ... how from being too watchful he had +grown weary, and come to desire forgetfulness ... a way to forget +himself the one thing he had never achieved. "It's not true, Marah," +he said harshly. "It's not true that you don't want to forget +yourself..." + +But she did not answer, and they sat for a long time in silence, +until, like the swift change of mood in a song, Levine's anger and +bitterness left him, and a sudden happiness assailed him, in which he +knew all their words for nonsense. "Marah..." he called from his +happiness, "Marah..." But she watched him sprawling grotesquely over +the earth, his hands caressing the grass, his lips pressed to the +ground, and again there was something remote in her expression, +something slightly puzzled. She saw him tearing the grass and +cupping it in his hands, and lifting it to his lips as though he +would drink it. And she discerned in it the pantomime of possessing +her. For a moment there seemed to be in her body the gesture of +submission, a feeling of paralysis before Levine's will ... +simultaneously she felt disgust for what she saw. + +"We'd better go," she said sharply, "it's late." + +"Why ... what has happened, Marah? What have I done?" + +"I don't like this ... this smelling under the armpits." + +"Oh, I see..." Levine sat up and looked at her angrily. He gathered +their things and they rose and walked for a long time without +speaking. + +* * * * * * * + +They came at last to a place where there were many small birches +standing as in a stockade, with the skeletons of large trees lying +among them. Where one birch had started to grow along the ground ... +its trunk horizontal with the earth ... and then turned sharply +upwards, they sat down to rest. The place was very quiet. Once a +large bird started from the ground with a snort of wings, and Marah +looked for it with startled eyes. But otherwise nothing moved. When +the sun broke through the leaves it was as if a group of dancers with +one motion had turned up the bright side of their fans. When the sun +went away it seemed that the fans were being slowly closed. Levine +looked up at a large maple that stood near them, and saw through the +leaves a dark lightning of branches. He noticed the dappled effect +of the leaves and saw what made it ... because on the edge of each +bright leaf there was a dark segment, where the shadow of another +leaf showed through. He noticed, also, that one of the stones in the +earth was glistening wet. "Spittle of snakes," he said to himself, +and he was surprised that these words came to him. Things occurred +to him to do. He thought of swinging on one of the branches of the +maple tree, his knees curled up, and then jumping down and letting +the branch rebound. He wanted to feel the smooth bark of the birch +trees with his finger-tips ... or take a twig and probe the soft, +damp-looking lumps of moss. Yet nothing of this was necessary. It +was not necessary to talk, or to touch Marah in order to feel her +nearness. All their words, he felt, had been spoken; and there was +nothing left now but the drift of impressions ... the lazy backwash +of his mood, like a wave that had broken in its full height. He felt +this rhythm, he felt the recession of his troubled mood. He was at +peace in this moment, and his peace would not be troubled again for +all the time that he was with Marah. He turned to her. "Now I have +you both," he said softly. + +She was sitting with her chin on her hand, looking thoughtfully +before her; but rousing herself once and glancing around she caught +sight of a tree that had the first red leaves of autumn. Her gray +eyes rested on it with startled delight, and she touched Levine's arm +with a gesture as if the tree were swiftly moving away. "Do you know +what I have to say to myself when the trees turn color?" She laughed +to herself with sheer pleasure at the sight ... "I'm almost afraid of +it ... and so I keep saying to myself: is it any different from their +being green..." To see the childlike delight in her eyes, and to +hear her laughter and words, was for Levine an exquisite moment of +forgetfulness. + +But now it was growing darker, and with one accord they rose and +stood uncertainly confronting each other. "Are you tired, Marah?" he +asked. She smiled to him, as if she had not understood the question, +yet wished to show that she had heard. "Shall we lie in that little +open space and look up at the sky?" and she nodded silently. They +lay down where they could see a stretch of sky fretted at its edges +with the dark silhouette of leaves, and listened for a long time to +the silence gathering around them, to a distant and ominous murmur +that seemed to come from a great distance. + +"Trucks on the state road...." Levine observed drowsily. It seemed +to him that he was sleeping. The patch of sky that he saw between +the trees, the faint sprinkle of stars, the fantastic shape of the +leaves against the sky ... here what seemed to be the head of a +gigantic horse rearing up from the earth ... all this was a scene +such as only a dream could put together. It was too perfect, he said +to himself, too allegorical.... If only he could consciously will +that the dream should continue, and that Marah should always be in it +... part of the allegory, the meaning and core of it. If only he +could lie forever in his waking dream, that seemed to rest him more +profoundly than sleep. + +After a time Marah sat up and clasped her hands round her knees. In +the dark she looked lonely and child-like, and she put her head down +on her knees as if she was very tired. "I had such a strange feeling +just this moment," she said. "I was looking up at the sky and I lost +all sense of looking up. I had the feeling that I was on board ship, +looking at very still blue water all around me. Is it true, do you +think, that you can forget you're looking upwards, and think you're +looking down on the sky?" + +"But it should be true..." Levine said, speaking softly and +reluctantly, unwilling to break his waking dream with speech ... "Yes +... why shouldn't we be able to look upward long enough, until all +our senses are accustomed to it, and it seems no different from +looking down?" + +"And the sky is really all around the earth," Marah continued in a +drowsy voice. "You see it going down to the horizon..." + +She lay down again, sighing. The darkness moved closer about them, +and a single mournful cry of some animal came from the woods ... a +note hoarse and bird-like. A long time after, when the cry had been +forgotten in the silence, Levine spoke. "Didn't it sound as if there +was an idiot boy in the woods..." + +"Because animals cry out that way," he mused to himself, "like idiot +boys. They open their mouths and a sound comes out, and you can't +tell whether there is joy or sorrow in their souls..." + +The cry was repeated, and Marah drew closer to him. Now it was so +dark that they could not see anything beyond the place where they +lay, and only the white outline of Marah's arms circling her head in +an attitude of complete relaxation relieved the shadow. Almost +palpably they felt the silence and darkness deepening around them, +like stealthy water in which they were being slowly trapped. They +rose, knowing that this time they were not to part, and they looked +into each other's faces and saw confirmation of it. Marah drew +towards him with a quick confiding gesture, and he could only guess +by her words at the sweet and child-like fear in her heart. "Oh, +where shall we go now," she cried softly, "where shall we go now..." + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +1 + +Yes, Lewis was getting stouter. He stood before the glass that hung +in his room, examining his face with chin thrust forward. "I _am_ +getting stouter," he said to himself, and lightly touched the flesh +over his cheek-bones. The fact struck him as curious. Since the day +he had left the hospital, since that brief and futile reckoning with +his anger in Levine's office, nothing in the way of good fortune had +befallen him. He had returned unwillingly to Ruth, and taken up the +work at Lustbader's as if still under the spell of that first moment +when Lustbader engaged him. In all this he felt there was nothing to +make him happy ... and yet it was certain that he was getting +stouter. He thrust his face closer to the mirror and pinched his +cheeks with an angry panic motion. In sudden terror he remembered +Biondi, and the loathing that had filled him at the thought of +Biondi's flesh ... + +Yet it was true, he admitted, that his life at the moment had a +sufficiently pleasant rhythm. The work at Lustbader's was not +difficult ... he liked the quiet and isolation of the house to which +they had moved on the outskirts of the city. He could rise in the +morning when he pleased, and stroll through the tidy streets before +going to work. Then there was the long trip in the subway with the +certainty of the dark and cool theatre at the end. And if he came +early enough, there were the few hours when he was alone and played +only for himself. With Lustbader, moreover, he was on the best of +terms. For one night when the lights of the theatre were out and the +building empty, Lustbader, more drunk than usual, had called him into +his office, intending, as he said, to give Lewis his most intimate +confidences. In the course of their conversation it had developed +that Lustbader was the victim of a grave misconception. "You see in +me, Antonini," he had said, resting his head on his hand and speaking +as though he were about to cry, "a man who has never been taken +seriously. And why? Because my hair is red, and my eyelashes are +red, and my moustache is red. Yet what's so peculiar about that? +Wasn't all the hair on the body meant to match? And suppose it is +peculiar ... tell me, does it make me any the less real? Ah, believe +me, Antonini, you don't know what it is to be so perfectly matched. +It's too much for people. Wherever I go they smile. And the women +... _they_ certainly don't know how to take it." He had lapsed into +mournful contemplation, from which he roused himself to beg Lewis to +take a more enlightened view. Lewis had reassured him, and after +that night Lustbader treated him with special consideration, even +suggesting that he organize a quartet in order that he might draw a +larger salary. But Lewis had been content with things as they were +... he had desired only that the routine of things continue. Even +the thought of Poldy came to him less and less. Tonight, the first +time that he stopped to take stock of himself, as if emerging from +the shock which had come with his leaving the hospital ... tonight he +did not think of Poldy at all. + +But it was hot in the room, and he turned away from the mirror and +went to the window to look out ... across the level land and +low-lying lights, to the place where the buildings of the city were +faintly visible ... to the searchlights playing over the river in a +perpetual crossing and re-crossing, lifting themselves like the +snouts of huge primeval animals lying somewhere below the horizon. +He heard faintly a distant murmur from the city, and near at hand the +sound of Ruth's footsteps going rhythmically back and forth in the +yard. + +Sharply and suddenly, as if he were seeing it for the first time, the +scene came to him ... he glimpsed it as a vast and quietly-colored +canvas, of which he saw the abstract arrangement and balance ... his +own dark figure at the window ... Ruth walking alone and thoughtfully +below it ... the level field of lights and the far-away fanwise +motion of the searchlights. And with this poignant momentary sense +of how the whole earth was spread out beneath him, and the masses of +things balanced on it, there came the feeling that it was good to be +on the earth's surface ... good to be alive and poised on the broad +plane of earth; a feeling that he had not known since boyhood, that +he thought could never visit him again. In that moment he wished +that Ruth would speak to him with some old reassuring word, breaking +the silence which had come between them since he returned from the +hospital. In his heart he called to her ... understanding that in +some way she was part of the moment, of the longing and pleasure that +was in it. But she continued to walk back and forth unaware of him, +and at last baffled and a little angry because she did not notice +him, he turned away from the window and sat down at the piano. He +tried a few notes and stopped, and put his elbows softly on the black +keys, resting his head in his hands. + +How strange, he thought, how strange that this feeling of happiness +had come to him ... that for a while he had been able to forget his +anger and resentment. There was in it the same pleasure and +discomfort that might come from interrupting a habitual motion ... as +if a certain gesture of his hands that went on unceasingly had been +arrested for a moment. Strange too, this longing for Ruth, a longing +which he had just felt so urgently and profoundly that it terrified +him. A moment before he had not suspected it was there ... he had +thought himself secure from her in his isolation of pain, and the +feeling that there was something to be ashamed of. But now for the +first time since his return he had glimpsed the chaos in his soul, it +had been flashed out from his calm like a complicated landscape +flashed out from the sky at night. And now that it was over he was +left more bewildered, with the same feeling of terror at what was +happening to him that he had felt before, when he stood before the +mirror remembering Biondi's flesh. + +But why didn't she speak to him? Why was there this silence between +them, in which their few words rang out with a cruel and terrible +distinctness? He remembered that they had loved each other in the +past. In the past their love had been a place where they were +intimately together ... yet now they were strangers, often he had the +painful feeling that his eyes could not see her clearly. Now they +were like two people who have walked by each other on the road, and +then look back and find that the road has curved in such a way that +they can no longer see each other. Which of them, then, had turned +the corner? Whose fault was it ... whose fault, he questioned +bitterly, that they could no longer see one another? Yours, +something reproached him ... because he had come back to her +unwillingly, because he thought she would be ashamed of him, and had +countered in his heart with anger and hatred. Yet he knew that +secretly he had wanted Ruth to comfort him ... secretly he had hoped +that on the first day she would take him to her and say comforting +words. If this had not happened ... if the first night had passed +and the first day, and all the days after, and she had not spoken, +then it was really, true that she was ashamed of him. She had even +denied him her body, and it was this that especially confused and +humiliated him. For if she repelled him whenever he tried to touch +her, how very great must be her shame of him, how loathsome he had +become. And at the thought of it Lewis felt his breath come more +quickly, he felt his throat tightening again with hatred for her. + +In a curious desire to see her, to study her out of his anger, he +went to the window and looked out. She was walking near the wall of +the house, her head thrust forward, her eyes fixed thoughtfully on +the ground. For a moment as he listened her footsteps seemed to be +speaking sadly to him ... to be the symbolic language of the thoughts +that came to her as she walked alone. And again he wanted to call to +her, lifting from his eyes the painful feeling that they could not +see her clearly. And the burden of his call, the words of it ... +what would that be? "Where are you, Ruth..." he could call to her, +"where are you..." And she would hear him and know that he longed +for her. But when he waited and she did not look up at him, he +remembered that he had come to study her objectively, to put her at a +distance by watching. His cue now was to watch her all the time ... +as she went about her work in the house ... when she walked in the +yard, when she spoke to him. Always to be watching her, and so keep +her at a distance ... + +But how tall she looked and unreal, pacing back and forth in her long +skirt, like a woman out of an old and sad legend. When she passed +under the window he could see the glistening blackness of her +straight hair, parted in the center and drawn back in a knot. +"Italian hair," he said to himself, unexpectedly and dispassionately, +as if he were examining a picture. She walked slowly, with a certain +queer hesitation, as though the ground might not be firm beneath her +feet. He had the curious feeling that she was walking barefoot. And +sometimes she was startled by a slight noise, and looked around, +seeming bewildered to find herself pacing back and forth. + +It did not seem possible that she could be walking so close to him +and not feel his presence at the window; yet when he caught a glimpse +of her face he saw in it an expression completely turned in on itself +... a strange and brooding look, as if one thought came continually +to her mind, which she could not understand at all, yet which had to +be turned this way and that and examined again and again, calling for +perpetual wonder. In this one thought she seemed to be spellbound, +caught in its terrifying strangeness, trying to shake it from her +with this trance-like pacing back and forth. And because of it she +could forget his presence and everything around her, she was even +unaware of the expression on her face ... the strange beauty that it +had of something completely absorbed and unconscious of itself. He +stood at the window watching, feeling almost afraid of her, of this +new wonder of her face. And when she stopped at the far end of her +walk and rested with her hand to the wall, he was startled almost to +outcry by the intent glance with which she gazed before her ... the +intraverted look of a statue whose features have grown to one +expression for centuries... + +What was she thinking of? What thought was it, he wondered, that +held her spellbound, and was so strange and bewildering that since +the first moment it occurred to her, all her days had been passed in +a stupor of trying to understand it. He remembered times when he +came upon her brooding alone, and she would lower her eyes +secretively, fix them for a moment in mysterious somnolence ... then +lift them with a swift glance of reproach, as if it lay in his power +to free her. There would be a bittersweet tumult in his heart at the +thought that she brooded over him, and was puzzled and unhappy for +the ending of their love. Yet in the next instant he would question +it ... why did she not speak to him if this was true ... why was +there only question and answer between them, her answers always +simple and courteous, like echoes of his question ... and if he did +not seek her out with questioning, why was there only silence? And +though he recalled from the past the sort of person she was ... one +to whom words did not come easily ... yet now there seemed to him a +treacherous quality in her silence. In it he heard many things ... +her scorn, her censure, her shame. It terrified him now with its +infinite meanings... + +But now she became aware of him, and stopped under the window and +looked up inquiringly. He was irritated because she had spied him +too late, after the moment of his longing was over. "Why don't you +go to bed?" he said sharply. She answered in a low voice that it was +too hot, and stood near the wall with one hand lifted, letting her +finger-tips play lightly along the part of her hair. Lewis waited +for her to speak further, and when she remained silent he turned away +from the window with a gesture of weary finality. The room seemed +suddenly too small for his anger. He fled from the room and the +house, walking in a trance of speed until he came out of the dark +road to the main street. There the number of people made him slacken +his pace. He permitted himself to be caught up into the rhythm of +their march, losing for a while all the torturing sense of his own +identity and the anger that had driven him forth. + +On each side as he walked people caught up with him and passed him. +He could feel their bodies flowing by with the bobbing motion of +debris on a swift stream. But after a few blocks he felt wearied +with the constant motion of people passing him and their endless +number. There were too many people in the world, he told himself ... +too many noises also. Day after day the noises in his head to listen +to ... by now he had learned how cunningly they could adjust +themselves ... weak and timid when it was quiet, proportioned to the +silence. But at other times trying to out-scream the sounds around +him, as if they could hear them and felt a hysterical contagion. He +longed for only a moment's freedom from them, for only one moment of +absolute silence. And it was true after all, he resumed, that his +life was hateful to him, and the fact that he was growing stouter was +only a trick of his flesh. It was true that he hated the work at +Lustbader's ... that he was nauseated with the necessity to sit and +play for people who weren't listening, and felt infinitely humiliated +each day at the indifferent going of the audience. It would be +better to give up the work at Lustbader's and find something else to +do, not so intimately associated with his past. Better also to leave +Ruth, rather than continue their living together as strangers. For a +while he tried to plan this seriously; but the feeling of dizziness +that overcame him made him stop short in his thoughts and warn +himself ... that these paroxysms were dangerous, that he could not +afford to let himself grow discontented. These were the dangerous +moments, he warned himself ... when, because of his discontent, he +began to desire something more than his life could give him, to long +wildly for a new and undefined fulfillment. Then he could see how +precarious was the stillness of his mind ... that it was only the +apparent stillness of something whirling so fast that no drop could +spill ... but if once the motion slackened, if it eased for only a +moment, then everything that had been held in balance by it would fly +apart. He knew that he must never permit any let-down in this +excitement of his mind ... there must always be something, something +to keep up its swift motion. + +But what would that be, he asked himself? What was there left for +him now, exiled from Ruth's love, unable to play any more, unable to +hear things clearly? What was there left save to hold fast to the +routine of his life, letting the rhythm of it, accumulating from day +to day, convince him at last that he was living. It was so for +everyone else ... for all these bodies that bobbed past him. They +moved in an insect activity, and repeated it in time and repeated it +in each other, so that they might feel doubly sure of themselves. +They moved daily in an insect migration, and everything they did was +automatic, and their love was unclean ... men and women living +together, and with too long familiarity and handling of each other's +bodies their love became incestuous. He too should be content to +live as they did, he should not slacken his pace and be thoughtful on +the street ... but even while he hastened his step his throat +tightened with hatred for them, for that air of urgency which they +always had, which was so skilful an imitation on their part of insect +importance. No, he told himself ... it was not so easy for him ... +he knew the trick that had been played on him. And his anger seemed +to deafen him, so that he heard for a moment the absolute silence +that he craved ... and he stopped bewildered, fearing that it was the +end of the whirling, the sudden jar of silence that comes when the +machinery stops. At first he wanted to shout to them for help, he +wanted to lay hold of someone and cry out what had happened. But in +that interlude of silence he heard a thought speaking clearly to him +... that he must begin to work on a symphony, and that he would be +famous through this work, that through it he would express all that +had happened to him, and it would lift him out of the incognito in +which he now lived. An incredible lightness of heart came over him, +a desire to laugh and embrace the people who passed him ... for it +seemed that now he heard the music of his own life again, and could +conduct it once more to a triumphant conclusion. He had found too a +further recess from Ruth, where she could watch him, puzzled and shut +out in her turn. Strange that it had not occurred to him before, +that something so obvious should be so slow in coming to him... + +But here somebody jostled him, and Lewis realized that he had been +standing still and staring at the sidewalk. Informally, then, the +noises resumed, and he started to walk again, but still with the +feeling of lightness in his heart. + + +2 + +It did not leave him for many days ... days in which cloud-sweeps of +music played about him ... endless panoramas of music that kept +merging and separating, folding and unfolding, with the prodigality, +the ceaselessness of insanity. Days when he heard terrific and +intricate harmonies ... the accompaniment for profound dancing, for +the courteous minuet of the worlds. When the noises in his head +opened up new vistas, arranging and rearranging themselves in +kaleidoscopes of sound, from which he caught an occasional pattern of +rhythm and melody, at the undreamed exquisiteness of which he held +his breath. When everything was saturated with music, and every +object that he looked at gave off musical sound like a property of +its matter ... and all the motions of his hand gave off music, as +simply as the motion of a whip gives off the swishing sound. All day +and even through the thin wall of his sleep he listened, and the +meaning of what he heard comprehended all words, was the infinite +meaning of things that lies beyond any word that has ever been +spoken. Meanwhile he went about pale and absorbed, going through his +work with the mechanical gestures of a sleep-walker. People stared +at him, who had the expression of someone lost in the nightmare of +his own ecstasy. But the end came at last. He sat down one evening +to recall what he had heard, his pencil finely-sharpened and poised +over the staff. + + +3 + +And at times they would come back to him ... themes that moved so +inevitably from phrase to phrase, in which he heard so clearly the +implicit harmonies, that to record them was only the labor of putting +down the notes on the staff. At other times he was baffled, working +for days without adding anything ... humming over and over in his +mind the parts that were already written, until they grew sterile +with the repetition and he could not hear them any more. Then in a +sudden impotence he would sit and stare at the notes, believing that +they might begin to move around on the page, or that in some +mysterious way he could conjure them, as if they were round black +symbols on a chart of magic. But when nothing happened and the whole +work seemed futile, his nostrils whitened with suppressed fury, he +would take his work in his hands with a furious desire to tear it ... +or when Ruth was in the room he would turn on her, as if it was her +quiet presence in the room or some casual movement of hers that +caused his failure. And on nights when this happened sleep was not +for either of them, but with careful and crafty questioning he sought +to call her to account ... why had she removed the picture of herself +that hung in his room ... why had she re-arranged things? And she +would answer him obediently, a suggestion of weariness in her slow +obedient answers. All night they lay in bed exhausting their words +... until it seemed to Ruth as if their words had become a symbolic +intercourse, more exacting and insatiable than the intercourse of +their bodies ... and she would lie still and thoughtful in the long +interval between his questions, like someone not entirely absorbed by +her passion, with much leisure to think in the midst of it. Why had +she removed the picture of herself that hung in his room ... and she +answered him obediently: how she had noticed that he looked angrily +about him when he worked, and she had not wished him to look at her +picture in that way. But in that slow obedience of all her answers +there was great weariness and indifference, as if it was only a way +of disguising her words, the way she had found at last of speaking to +him and yet guarding the secrecy of her thoughts. These, now, were +more important to her. All day to whatever she did her thoughts were +an insistent accompaniment, and in bed they had to be counted again, +told over every night like prayers before she could fall asleep.... + +First, she remembered, there were the days just after his return. +From the beginning he had been strange to her, and yet she had not +suspected anything, she had been willing to wait. When the newness +of things wore off, she had told herself, he would look around once +more and remember her. And at first it had been easy to find +reasons: it was moving to the new house that pre-occupied him, or the +work at Lustbader's ... but when time passed and he did not change +she saw how excuses could multiply themselves, how she was put off +indefinitely. Then had come a period of panic, when she felt the +strangeness settling between them like a stealthy gathering of mist, +and was powerless to stop it. When she had tried to snare his +attention ... foolishly, in ways that made her ashamed to remember +... placing something new where he would see it ... a vase of green +glass or a bright square of silk for the wall. There had been for a +moment a magic in everything she bought, a belief that everything +must change because this or that was brought into the house. And +when these had failed she thought the fault must be in herself. Then +what do I need? she had asked, standing in front of the mirror and +examining herself. "I am too dark ... too sombre-looking...." and +this discovery had filled her with a sense of guilt, she was ashamed +because she was not light-hearted... + +So everything had ended in shame and confusion. And now that all her +thoughts were over, now that she had counted them like prayer beads, +what was there left to do save to lie rigid and wait for sleep? +Though each night she was conscious of her body and its sweetness +going to waste, she knew it was better to lie alone. In the +loneliness of her body there was, somehow, a little cause for pride +... there was also hope, an element in their relations that was still +in solution. Each night when they lay in bed she felt the +separateness of their bodies as a question, and she feared that if +she gave herself to him the question would be answered, and there +would be no longer any hope for her ... only complete humiliation. +Better, then, to lie with her fantasy ... to feel her body as if it +were a statue, immobile yet conscious. So in some ancient evil court +women were used ... arranged naked as adornments for the corners of +the palace, on their knees and under a towering headdress, so that +they might be more rigid and unreal. So she thought of herself, a +slave-woman whose body was turning into stone, while near her a long +and dispassionate intercourse was occurring. + +She would lie so long without moving that Lewis would raise himself +on his elbow and turn to look at her ... seeing her face white +between the lines of its Gothic hair, and her eyes staring upward, +gleaming like black stones. Angrily he would repeat his question... + + +4 + +But she had put back the picture and arranged everything as it was +before. Yet one afternoon when she entered his room, she found Lewis +sitting disconsolately over his work, resting his head on his hands +and staring before him. He turned on her with unexpected ferocity. +"Why did you change things around? Everything is going wrong since +then." + +Ruth hesitated whether to speak, and then asked indifferently, "Why, +what is wrong..." + +"You should never have meddled," Lewis insisted petulantly. "Did I +ask you to come in and arrange things? Did I ask you to spy on me?" + +Ruth sat down, her arm on the back of the chair, her fingers musingly +feeling the part in her hair. At her feet was a pile of papers torn +into deliberate tiny scraps. These she stared at and then touched +with the tip of her foot. The action infuriated Lewis. He went over +to her and caught her wrist, so that she drew away from him with a +cry of pain. + +"I tell you we can't go on this way," he said bitterly. "It must +end. We can't go on with this crime." + +"What is the crime?" she asked, with weary automatic curiosity. +"Tell me what crime you mean. Have _I_ committed it?" + +She fixed her dark eyes on him for a moment, and then turned her +attention again to the papers on the floor, shifting them about with +the tip of her foot, trying to arrange them into a circle. In this +occupation she was profoundly absorbed, hardly aware of him. Only +once she frowned. When he said, "It would be better for me to be +alone," she frowned as if she could not understand the words, but had +caught them between her eyebrows, and would hold them that way to be +considered in the future. Meanwhile, with delicate and intent +movements of her foot she perfected the circle of papers. + +Then she rose and went into the bedroom. For the colloquy that she +was going to have it seemed necessary to let down her hair first, and +lay the hair-pins carefully away. She leaned forward and stared at +herself in the glass, still frowning. "What was my crime?" she asked +softly, and lowered her eyes in thought. "Why no, it wasn't that," +she reasoned. "Something went wrong with the music. My crime was +only to be present." She smiled at this and looked at her reflection +triumphantly. "Yes, my crime was that I was present." But +immediately she leaned closer, and looked into her eyes that were now +large and startled. "But suppose that is a crime," she whispered. +Because she did not know what to say ... because there was a terrible +finality in that question, she turned away from the glass, and a wave +of dizziness and terror swept over her. One thought came to her mind +... flight ... to go away from him instantly, to make the house +suddenly empty of her presence. In a moment this became so urgent +that she did not stop to do more than comb her hair and brush the +dust from her dress. Softly she opened the door, and reassuring +herself that she was unobserved, she went lightly down the stairs. +Where she was going or what she would do was not clear to her ... she +only knew that it was urgent that he be left alone, that Lewis should +feel the emptiness of the house at once. She struck out in the +direction of open country, unconsciously turning from the street that +would lead her among people. Walking so swiftly that she seemed to +be moving in a dream, she came to the state road, and not until she +had gone far into the country did she stop. Then as if awakening she +looked around her. Suddenly tired, she turned back a few paces to +the ending of a stone fence, and sat down there, surveying the scene +around her with a listless interest in its details. + +She saw a field in which the gathered and tented wheat lay in a quiet +encampment, and in the stillness she heard the dry rustling of bugs +through the stalks. A row of little pines stood near the edge of the +field, their trunks no bigger than branches. She looked at them and +thought of children standing in a row, stretching on thin legs to see +which was tallest. Across the road and a little beyond the place +where she sat there was a white farmhouse under dark trees, and she +heard the voices of men shouting in the distance. She sat there +looking indifferently at the field, or letting her eye travel +listlessly over the tall grass and flowers at her feet. For a long +time she followed the movements of a white butterfly that caromed +against her knees, she sat so still; or noted how, in the least wind, +the tall grasses bent toward each other. A loud humming of some +insect, sounding near her like a man's voice, made her start. She +jumped up hastily and looked around, then seeing what it was she sat +down again, smiling self-consciously at her fright. Now she +remembered things she had passed on the road. At one house two +children had been standing in a doorway, regarding her curiously; and +when she looked back the children in the doorway had strangely +multiplied themselves into a group of all sizes, all staring at her +with one expression of astonishment. Another time she had followed a +road that led unexpectedly to a house, and she had turned and walked +away quickly, while two old women on the porch called to her, each +one holding an egg in her hand, arrested in the act of counting. +These details came back to her now, with the strange overtone of +something she might have read about in a fairy-tale. And the field +of wheat before her and the young pines stretching to see which was +tallest seemed unreal as the picture in a child's book. She felt +rather foolish now. She had achieved that sudden emptiness of the +house which had seemed at the moment of her flight so urgent and +precious to her ... but now what to do? Return? No ... she must +stay away longer. She bestirred herself and walked on more slowly. +But now she felt faint and exhausted and sat down to rest wherever +she could find a little shade. At length she came to the end of the +state road and faced a country lane, unshaded and desolate-looking. +Here a man was working in the fields, and when he saw her he rested +on his hoe, watching her as she stood uncertainly at the cross-roads. +"Where are you going?" he called. Ruth went over to him. "I don't +know..." she began confusedly, feeling the blood mount in her cheeks. +"What's off that way?" + +"Up there," he said, and seemed to be figuring it out, "up there's +the lake, but it's so hot on that road, you'll get cooked." + +She considered a moment, thanked him and turned back. One time she +stopped and leaned against a tree, laughing and crying at the same +time. "You'll get cooked..." she repeated to herself. + +It seemed to her as she retraced her steps that there was an eternity +of time before she would reach the place where she had rested. +Things she had noticed on her way seemed to have moved farther apart, +the sky was overcast, and behind her there was a constant rumbling of +thunder ... when she reached the white farmhouse heavy drops were +falling. In terror of the storm she stood in front of the house, +wishing that someone would call to her. But only a huge dog came +bounding out, and when she lifted her arms he leaped at her. For a +long time she tried to ward him off, standing there in the center of +his leaping, swishing her arms back and forth, fearing that at any +moment the grotesque duel between them would end. Her breath came in +short gasps, she tried to call for help, but her terror prevented +her. At last she raised her voice. "Call off your dog," she cried +hoarsely, and blushed at the boldness of shouting that way. Two +young girls appeared on the porch and called to the dog, and then, +after a short consultation with each other, invited her in. The +storm broke as they entered the kitchen. There the shades were drawn +and the lights turned on, giving the effect of night. + +They permitted her to sit alone on a low stool near the window. When +the rain slackened and it grew lighter, the girls raised the shades +and turned off the lights, and busied themselves once more with their +sewing. Infinitely pleasant to Ruth was the tidy kitchen and the +sound of the clock ticking and the rain outside ... a quiet interlude +in which she lived for the time the calm house-bound life of the two +girls, in which her own unhappiness did not exist. In a desultory +manner the girls talked while they sewed. + +"Do you think they are coming back here to live?" + +"It's hard to say," the taller one answered. "They wrote that they +were selling the place." + +"And didn't say what they would do after?" + +"No, he likes it out there." + +The first one who had spoken stooped to pick up a skein of silk from +the floor. "I think this red is too bright," she said, holding it up +to the light. "Tell me," she continued after a long silence. "Are +you ever lonesome here?" + +The other hesitated. "No ... not really lonesome," she said +thoughtfully. "I have my moods of course, but I'm not lonesome for +any particular person, or any place either. It's just..." she sighed +and looked down at her work. "But it's very nice here," she added. + +From time to time they glanced shyly at Ruth, and becoming conscious +of her presence they would be silent. She wished they would forget +her entirely, that she could lose her own identity and sit there +forever, listening to their quiet dialogue. For there seemed to be +something so impersonal in what they said, an indifference in their +manner of speaking, that gave her a strange sense of peace. She saw +them as beings still content with their world and secure in the +little details of it ... still untouched by desire, by the knowledge +that would make of the whole world a prison of one person. "Not for +any particular person..." the taller one had said. Ruth remembered +the words as if they had been spoken for her. There was only one +place in the world, she knew, where she could dare to exist, and that +was near Lewis. She was not strong enough to be without him ... she +would accept any terms, only to be near him. And having made this +confession she felt infinitely degraded, she felt that if the two +girls could have looked into her heart they would have recoiled with +horror. In all that they were yet to learn this would seem to them +most terrible ... that they should become so bound, that the whole +world should become a prison of one person. And could they not tell +what was in her heart? Wasn't it known to them already? Why was she +walking alone this way, if not because she was unhappy for someone? +Her cheeks flushed with shame at the thought that they understood her +... she wished she could hide from them, feeling too exposed when +they looked at her with their swift glances. + +But now she realized that they wanted her to go. "It's cleared up," +they urged gently. Ruth sighed and rose, and stood for a while +glancing around the room, lingering on its neatness, on the shining +clock and the pictures, which she saw through their eyes as dear +possessions. She looked out and saw that it was clearing, and over +the wheat field there was the reddish glow of sunset. "Yes, I'll be +going," she said reluctantly. They followed her courteously to the +door. + + +5 + +Ruth knew, as she walked down the road, that they were watching her +go, and while they could see her she kept her head up bravely. But +as soon as a turning of the road effaced the house, she sat down and +gave way to a passionate angry outburst of tears. There was not so +much sorrow in it as anger for all the things that had happened to +her, for everything that was yet to occur. She had thought to flee, +and had given herself the momentary satisfaction of making the house +empty of her presence. But that was all ... that was all she could +accomplish. She clenched her hands and beat them against the stone +... "I am not strong enough," she said aloud, with bitter anguish in +her voice. "It's true ... I am not strong enough...." + +Lewis was standing outside, looking anxiously up and down the street. + +"Where have you been?" he asked reproachfully. "I was looking for +you...." + +She stood in the doorway resting, her hand to her heart. Of a sudden +an expression of pain crossed her face. "Lewis," she said faintly, +and looked at him, her eyes wide with fear. "Put your hand on my +heart. Isn't it beating too fast?" He obeyed her, but the feeling +of her heart beating under her wet dress was repulsive to him, as if +she had asked him to touch a wound. He forced himself to hold his +hand there and shook his head. "Where have you been?" he repeated. +"I've been looking for you...." + +Upstairs in the bedroom she lay down, feeling her forehead burning +hot and the blood beating in it with imprisoned fury. She lay alone +for a long time, until the room grew dark and her eyes closed in +uneasy slumber. Lewis woke her, bending over and awkwardly touching +her forehead. + +"Does your heart hurt any more?" he asked. + +"No ... I'm all right..." and she turned away from him. + +"You have fever, Ruth..." + +"No, it's nothing," she repeated sharply. "Let me alone." + +But after a while she turned to him, and he could see her face +bewildered and pale in the darkness. + +"Tell me, Lewis," she said, her voice low and reluctant. "Why do you +torture me?" + +He pondered her question. "Why no ... that's not true," he said +harshly. "We torture each other." + +"But why ... why..." The word was repeated with dull insistence, +with the unhappy petulant tone of someone who has asked a question +too long. And it seemed natural that silence should follow her +question, having in it the quality of a profound answer. + +Nothing could be more terrible to her than his caress on that night. +While there had been the separateness of their bodies, she had felt a +little cause for pride. But she knew this for the end of everything, +she knew, now, that her degradation was complete. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +1 + +The turning of a corner suddenly thrust Poldy against the march of +homecoming workers. He shocked with a squad of young girls walking +arm in arm, a taut buoyant line. They giggled and wavered for a +moment, unwilling to break the lovely repeated pattern of their arms. +Then the line swung away from him like a slackened whip. He walked +forward, progressing in a blind zigzag, his eyes closed against the +sun. But it seemed to him after a while as if he were no longer +walking, but being drawn onward by the suction of all those bodies +moving against him ... as if they were mute automatons being moved on +the belt of some vast machine, and he was part of the machine that +had to move counterwise ... a unique intimate part, articulating with +the crowd. "Surely I am not to die yet," he said to himself ... +"surely there is a way to be saved." And there came to him a word +that he wanted to cry out, a strange word that he had never heard +before, which held the secret of all things. Fast as he was walking, +the sense of walking was lost to him. He yielded himself passively +to the motion, he felt his body in complete subjection to the will of +the machine on which they all moved ... and the word within him was +urgent as matter that had to be voided, he felt prophetic powers +closing upon him, because he was haunted by the impishness of a word. +But soon he became afraid because they moved against him too swiftly. +He wanted to fling his arms out as children do and call out +mischievously, "Stop!" ... to see them storm against his arms, a mute +animal terror in their eyes as the huge belt moved on relentlessly, +leaving them behind. He wanted to trick them with the word, to fling +it into that orderly route ... cry it with his arms stretched +straight above him and his fingers spread wide. And at the clang of +it panic would spread through them, they would drift confusedly here +and there ... a viscous flow of bodies, as if they were held on a +plate being tipped different ways. It was no word that he had ever +heard before ... a foreign word of three syllables ... and as he +groped for it in his mind it came to him. "Kuramos!" he would shout +... "Kuramos...." + +But now the lust for something unknown swept over the people; and +because there was a man on the street selling something, who was so +short that he could not be seen from the outside of the crowd, they +thought that _there_ was the miracle ... in that mysterious axis +around which the crowd was ranged. And those on the outside began to +ask, "What is it?" and to conjecture what it was. And the question +spread, some hearing it with joy and others with terror, each one +answering it according to his desire. Soon the street was blocked, +and those on the outside fought with those who were nearer; and each +one who came in contact with the fighting could not withstand it, +until everyone was struggling with his neighbor, wrestling blindly +with the thing that opposed him ... and the little man in the center +stopped flourishing his knives and looked at them with terror. He +climbed up to his wagon and lay on it with his belly to the boards, +and reached down to draw up his signs and his satchel; and they +closed in on the space where he had been standing. + +Just then it was that Poldy saw a figure standing quietly in the +turmoil, a man with a face that was indescribably narrow, the eyes +and mouth switched about as if they were trying to adjust themselves +lengthwise. The face smiled and blew hard at a whistle. Policemen +came running from all sides, as though they had been lying in wait +for the cue. Their clubs sputtered in the crowd, and there followed +an insane waving of arms as those who were fighting tried to clutch +at the clubs, still bucking their heads at those who were near them. +The man lying in his wagon curled himself up in the farthest corner +of it. And he did not dare crawl down again until they were all +dispersed, moving once more away from the sun in an orderly rout. +Poldy touched his forehead. It was bleeding and his mouth ached. +The fellow who blew the whistle was coming toward him, smiling +apologetically. + + +2 + +On closer inspection Poldy decided that it was not so much the +narrowness of his face which had twisted the eyes and mouth. The +nose too was slightly out of focus, and it seemed to act like an axis +on which the other features were turned. The result was an +expression of perpetual slyness, a winking-off to someone in the +distance. The fellow had one leg longer than the other, and it was +only when he tried to walk fast that this sly expression of his face +changed. Then his whole face was contorted ... his mouth hung open, +too much of the lower lip exposed, and his eyelids quivered, his +whole body seeming to shake with inward laughter. He came close to +Poldy, stood at attention and clicked his heels. But in order to do +so he had to bend back a little and sideways, a swaggering pose with +a hint of pugnaciousness in it, as though he were preparing to leap +forward and attack. + +"I saw you being clubbed," he announced, and bowed very courteously. +"My card." + +Poldy took it mechanically. He was still wiping blood from his +forehead and felt in no humor to speak. He pocketed the card and was +about to go away, when the cripple caught his arm and begged him to +read it. It was elaborately printed: "David Solner, Expert on +Authority." + +"A very original title," Poldy remarked politely. + +The fellow threw his head back and burst out laughing. "_I_ thought +it was." He jerked his thumb at the policemen. "They don't know who +I am, of course." + +"No ... I suppose not." + +"They always play right into my hands. Oh it's too easy, much too +easy. But just then..." He drew nearer and put his hand on Poldy's +shoulder with great good fellowship. "Just then I had real action." + +"I'm glad you were not disappointed," Poldy said in his best manner. +"However, I must be going." But he had gone only a few steps when he +felt a tugging at his arm. The expert on authority's face had +elongated itself as if it were elastic, there was a look of +consternation at the prospect of Poldy's departure. And this look +poised paradoxically above the swaggering pose of his body made him +seem so forlorn that Poldy had not the heart to turn away. He +suffered himself to be led into the park, where they settled +themselves on one of the benches around the fountain. The cripple's +walk registered his joy, growing so ecstatic with all its elaborate +bending and twisting, that it seemed to be all a mimicry ... as if he +were only clowning it for the children, and might turn around any +minute and say, "How did you like that? Now watch this one." When +he sat down he crossed his legs and swung his long foot with a +delicate rhythmic motion, almost maidenly. At last he turned to +Poldy. + +"As you see, I'm a cripple," he began in a very matter-of-fact voice. +"Cripples very often are beggars. Is that right?" + +Poldy nodded. + +"But sometimes you see a beggar who doesn't seem to be crippled. Is +that right?" + +Again Poldy nodded. The catechism seemed to have been memorized and +rehearsed many times, and he felt that the safest answer was a silent +one. + +"But in that case," the fellow continued, "what do you do?" + +Poldy was confused. "I forget where we were at," he said humbly. +"If you'll only repeat..." + +David began again with stern emphasis. "If you see a beggar who is +_not_ crippled, what should you do? ... What should you do?" he +repeated, leaning forward and regarding Poldy slyly. Poldy +hesitated. "Really, now, I don't know," he said. "I've never +thought of the situation." + +"Think ... think..." + +Poldy frowned and pursed his lips, making an elaborate display of +thinking. His decision seemed to be of great importance to the +cripple, who was regarding him with an expression of challenging +slyness. At length Poldy ventured an opinion. + +"I might count his fingers," he said slowly. + +"Right!" and David slapped his thighs gleefully. "Count his fingers. +Right! Now I know that you're a man I can talk to. Yes, I can trust +you. In fact I knew it the moment I saw you in the crowd, but I +never talk to anyone until he can answer that question. Because, of +course, there may not be the correct number of fingers. You have to +be clever to find that out. Well, you're one of the clever ones, I +see. I can trust you. But now it's your turn. Ask me any question." + +"Well now..." Poldy thought for a moment. "Of course," he observed +briskly, "you have other work besides ... beside your work as expert +on authority?" + +David spread his hands in negation. "A cripple!" he sighed. "How +can I work? ... Well, I do run errands." + +"Your work as an expert on authority doesn't pay, then?" + +"No ... oh, no. It's a labor of love." He turned to Poldy with a +challenging look, a hint that he desired further questioning. But +Poldy was silent, and finally David was forced to talk. + +"I make toys, too..." + +"Indeed." + +"Oh, yes. You should see them." He brought out a little cardboard +figure from his pocket, the face drawn in with the regularity of a +child's drawing, a fringe of hair on the forehead to heighten the +stupid expression. Little red strings were tied to the head and arms +and legs, terminating in an intricate knot whose loops were kept +apart by pins. David held it nonchalantly in his hand for a while, +to let the intricacy of it register on Poldy. Then with a rapid +movement of his thumb and forefinger he manipulated the pins. The +cardboard man began to dance, an insane ecstatic dance. + +"It's marvelous ... marvelous," Poldy said. "But what is it for?" + +David nudged him with his elbow and looked well pleased. "I knew it, +I knew it," he crowed. "I knew you would ask. Clever, isn't it?" + +"Exceedingly." + +"It took me almost two years to make it. Some people would say it +shows real inventive power, wouldn't they..." + +"And not be far from the truth." + +"Here ... see if you can do it." + +Poldy touched the doll gingerly. Its staring mechanical face +affected him almost with terror. He remembered a man he had once +seen at a fair ... standing in one of the booths, his face painted so +that it looked like a doll's, and another man lecturing on him ... +now ladies and gentlemen, step inside and you will see them cut Bimbo +in two. And with that the man had been given a hearty push, and he +stumbled a few steps, never once relaxing the doll-like expression of +his face. Then he recovered his balance, and raised his hands again +with marionette rigidity. Poldy had felt sick at heart at this +mummery, at the man's degradation before the crowd. Unwillingly he +manipulated David's toy, while the owner looked on approvingly. "Do +you know, I had a model for that head?" + +"Yes ... it's very lifelike." + +"Oh, no ... it's not lifelike at all. I don't call myself an artist. +This fellow who was my model used to come into the hospital. He +moved his head just the way that the doll does ... all day, mind you. +Wait..." He fumbled nervously in his pocket, but only a crumpled +piece of paper was forthcoming. + +"I can't find it," he said forlornly. + +"Isn't it on the paper?" + +"No..." He threw the paper away and turned his back to Poldy and +stared morosely at the pavement. He even stopped swinging his leg. +Poldy tried to rally him. + +"Why do you carry it ... the doll?" And David at once rewarded him +with a grateful glance, the leg started to swing again, he clasped +his knees and held his elbows rigid with delight. + +"I was waiting for you to ask. Listen. When I was in the hospital I +had nothing to do. So I decided to figure out how many times this +fellow wagged his head, by the minute, you understand. That's what I +was looking for. I thought I had the paper in my pocket with the +figures on it. So one morning I said to the nurse, 'Give me your +watch.' 'What do you want it for?' she asks. 'I want to count my +pulse.' 'No ... that's not what you want it for.' 'I want to see +what time it is.' 'Well, I'll tell you the time.' 'I want to see +what kind of a watch it is. I used to fix watches...'" + +"Really! You're expert in many ways, I see." + +"No, not in the least. I only told her that." + +"And did she give you the watch then?" + +"Oh, no. She wouldn't give it to me for that reason either. So at +last I said to her: 'Well, I want to count the number of times a +minute that Joe wags his head.' She didn't believe that at all, so +she laughed and gave me the watch. Then I called Joe over to my bed. +'Joe,' I said, 'come talk to me....' and I held the watch in my hand +and counted it by the minute hand, just as the doctor counts your +pulse." + +"A very interesting experiment. And the result?" + +Once more David flashed him an approving look. He searched his +pocket again, but this time nothing was forthcoming, and an +expression of alarm came over his face, unfolding down from his +forehead like a mask. First the eyebrows elevated themselves, making +the apex of a triangle, the nostrils distended, the lower lip +dropped. He held the expression for a moment, then switched it off. +"I can't find it," he announced sadly. + +"Perhaps you remember?" + +"No ... no ... But tell me, what do you think?" His face brightened +and he looked at Poldy anxiously. "Perhaps I never did it?" + +"Oh, it's altogether likely..." + +But this accommodating answer had an electric effect on David. He +jumped away from Poldy to the end of the bench, and lowered his eyes +sullenly. "Ah ... I knew I couldn't trust you ... I knew it," he +muttered, and he would not talk to Poldy for a long time. + +"But you started to tell me why you keep that doll," Poldy coaxed. + +"Oh, _that_," his mood changed again and he flashed an appreciative +smile at Poldy, as if he had a bright pupil who was asking the right +questions. "I'll tell you. After I got that idea about Joe, I +decided to figure out how many times a day I swing to one side. Now +allowing sixteen hours to the day, since there's nothing doing while +I sleep, and about thirty-one swings a minute, it gives you sixteen +times sixty times thirty-one, which is twenty-nine thousand seven +hundred and sixty. But allowing three hours when I'm standing still +and two hours when I work at the press--I press clothes in a shop--I +subtract five times sixty times thirty-one, which is nine thousand +three hundred, leaving ... do you follow?" + +"Continue, continue." + +"Oh, there's nothing to continue about," he ended sullenly. "Don't +you see it now?" + +"I confess that I don't." + +"You can guess, can't you?" + +"I'm not good at guessing." + +"Well, never mind," David said sulkily. "I knew I couldn't trust +you." + +"I'd _like_ to know...." Poldy said with great humility. + +David leaned closer toward him and tapped off his words in the manner +of one closing a deal. "Now don't you think I deserve something for +all that?" he whispered. + +"Of course ... of course." + +"There you are!" He sprang back and raised his voice briskly. "Did +they get you? Tell me, did they get you?" + +"I don't know what you mean..." + +David burst out laughing. "The war ... the war. You had to go?" + +"I had to go." + +"Mmm ... I thought so. But tell me, didn't you foresee it?" + +"Foresee it!" + +"Yes, of course. Tell me now," his voice became smoothly +argumentative, he eyed Poldy in the manner of a storekeeper who has +to persuade a difficult customer, "Tell me, what did you expect? Now +if you had been crippled, say ... if something had been the matter +with you _then_ ... well, that would have been different, wouldn't +it..." Poldy felt an impulse to strike him, but David seemed to +divine the trembling in his arm, and rebounded to his former +position. "Well, never mind," he said airily. "Strange title that, +on my card. Don't you think so?" + +"It's very strange." + +"You saw me blow the whistle..." + +"Yes, I saw you." + +"That's part of my job." + +"Indeed." + +"Wherever people," David began with strongly marked accents, +"wherever people are being bullied ... I'm there! I watch it! If +things are too slow I blow the whistle. It's a delicate matter too, +knowing when to blow it. But it's quite all right, you see. I'm in +it myself. Now this leg, you might say," he stretched it grandly, +"bullies me all the time. It's my authority. 'Swing,' it says ... I +swing. That's why I figure that I have a right to enjoy myself. +They owe me something for this, I say." + +"And do you find many diversions?" + +"Oh, I know where to look," he said mysteriously. "Did you read in +the papers the other day of a meeting here in the square? I follow +the papers and so I know where to go. There was a riot here and one +man was killed. The club hit him wrong ... they can't always be +careful about such matters. You should have seen his head wobble +before he fell, just as if he was saying, 'This is all wrong, _all_ +wrong.' Besides, wherever they build." + +"Build, you say?" + +"Yes, build ... put up buildings. There's generally a chance there +of seeing somebody killed. They fall down. Now have you ever +watched a man trying to balance himself on a beam a hundred feet in +the air?" + +"No, not particularly..." + +David nudged him ecstatically. "_There's_ something, now ... The way +he has to dance around ... that's authority, too. Do you see it now?" + +"It grows clearer to me." + +"Now, have you ever noticed a crowd being driven back when they want +to see something?" + +"I seem to remember it..." + +"They walk backwards. Strange thing, isn't it, to see people all +walking backward." He mused for a time, and resumed in the manner of +someone pleasantly reminiscing. "I had a great show once when I was +riding on the ferry. They had some soldiers on the island that they +were punishing. Made them work right on the edge of the island ... +picking up the stones that they have there or laying them down, I +couldn't tell which. One slip and they would be in the water, and no +one caring to save them. I think that's important, don't you?" + +"Important?" + +"Yes," David nodded. "It's important that they knew no one would +save them. That's what made it so interesting. I ran to the railing +and leaned over to see it clearer--" + +"Yes, I can imagine that it was highly entertaining." + +"Oh no, that was nothing," David retorted. "In fact, the whole thing +was rather dull until a wind came up, and then their shirts blew out +in back, like big white balloons that they were attached to. And +their legs looked so tiny and helpless, you'd think they were bugs +being held in the air." David paused, laughing heartily at the +picture he conjured up, looking at Poldy for appreciation. "You've +seen that, haven't you?" + +"Yes ... I recall it now..." + +"Now you don't look as though you could balance yourself on wet +stones..." He eyed Poldy shrewdly. + +"I've never tried, to tell the truth." + +"Could you stand on top of a ladder that was steep as a wall, and +paint without holding on to anything?" + +Poldy considered. + +"No, I'm afraid you couldn't," David said severely. "You had a hard +time of it in the war ... didn't you..." + +Poldy turned on him a wide and troubled glance, but David only looked +back innocently. After a while David made a loud clicking sound and +bit his under lip, releasing it slowly, letting it slide from his +teeth as though he were sucking a delicate flavor from his thoughts. +Behind the coarse long hairs of his lashes his eyes shifted back and +forth ... Poldy felt he could almost hear them buzzing like insects +behind a hedge. He rose to go, feeling a sudden repulsion towards +the cripple, and in some way that was not clear to him, degraded by +their conversation. Again he had the desire to strike him, but the +expert on authority looked back at him with an expression of sad and +profound innocence. After a moment David too stood up, and pointed +excitedly toward the fountain. "Look ... look," he breathed. And +Poldy saw a tatterdemalion fellow followed by a crowd of urchins, who +kept their way a little to one side of the main stream of people. +The boys were torturing their quarry by the simple device of +advancing toward him in a body, and scattering the moment he made a +motion to strike them. As the game gained speed the figure in the +center became more and more frenzied, striking in all directions with +its arms ... until the dark silhouette looked like that of a +many-armed god performing for his worshippers. Poldy heard David +laughing beside him, a constrained and secretive laugh, as though the +peculiar flavor of the joke were known only to him. "Look ... look," +he breathed again. "Oh, I can't stand it..." He took the whistle +from his pocket and blew it, and the boys dispersed. When the +policeman came he seized the man by the collar, and the man, with an +obliging motion, ducked his head forward so as to give him a firmer +hold. And now that it was over David stretched himself luxuriantly. + +"I'll be going too," he announced. "I have a job on for tonight." + +"A job?" + +"Yes, it's around here. I may get round to it if I'm not too busy. +At eight o'clock. Have you my card?" + +"It will be a valued memento." + +"Will you come to see me sometime? The address is on the card. Come +tonight," he added slyly, "and we can go out together." + +Poldy hesitated. He did not know whether his strange friend +attracted or repelled him, but there was a certain exhilaration that +he felt in his presence, a new gaiety that came to him when he could +fall in with the other's laughter. Moreover there was the feeling +that he was to be made privy to some secret entertainment, they two +being the only ones in the whole city to share it. He nodded and +they parted on cordial terms. Poldy stood and watched David swinging +off towards the eastern side of the park, hitting the posts as he +walked and sometimes giving an extra rap to a favored post. And now +that he was alone, Poldy saw that the sunset had faded, nothing left +of it but an afterglow reflected on the faces of the people who +passed ... a pink softness on every face that made it look too naked. +Now flesh was revealed as something too weak to stand the caprice of +steel with which it was surrounded. "They should have made something +stronger than flesh when they invented everything else," Poldy mused. +But of a sudden he started to run across the park to the street where +he had been walking before. He came to a place that advertised +fortune-telling. There was a huge picture of a Hindu in front, and +it was just as he had suspected. Under the picture was the word +Kuramos. + + +3 + +They were collecting money in front of the library. A blanket was +spread on the street and people threw in coins or bills. When the +blanket had been laid at the beginning, a poor woman stopped and +threw down three pennies. After that nobody gave for a long time. +Young girls went about shouting shrilly, and a bugler stood by, +lifting his horn valiantly and glancing at the empty blanket each +time he had to stop and wipe his lips. At last a dollar bill +fluttered down from one of the busses, but a wind swept it down the +street and a crippled soldier stopped it. Quicker than anyone could +bend down he put his knee on it, and held it so until someone stooped +down to him and drew the dollar bill out. The soldier smiled up +jovially and went on his way. After that the blanket filled rapidly, +a fever of throwing money seized those who passed. Those who had +never given to beggars, who had never dared to throw a coin from them +... all those to whom the process of giving or taking money was +carefully hedged in as though it were obscene, threw all they had +into the blanket. They threw it awkwardly and with a look of guilt, +because it seemed as if the privacy of things had been violated ... +as if, because of this public and shameless giving, the world had +changed, and people might stop and void themselves anywhere, and no +one would wonder at it. + +A crowd gathered, watching a man writing figures on a blackboard, +each number higher than the last. But Poldy could not understand it +... the relation between the numbers being written and the bright +metal circles and oblong papers that lay in the blanket. He could +not recognize them any more as coins and dollar bills. They had +become for him color and shape, geometric patterns without value. +And after a while he saw that few glanced any more at the numbers on +the blackboard; but everyone counted each thing that fell into the +blanket, seeing also that it was only a shape and a texture, a sign +that someone had given. + +At times as Poldy rested on the library steps he passed into a +stupor, from which he emerged to see things more intensely, with a +sense that he must use his reprieve ... store up the sights and +sounds that were on this earth against the time of darkness that +threatened him. Sometimes, in the vivid afternoon light, the city +seemed like a brightly-figured rug that someone was shaking before +him, and he had to catch the pattern of it as it rippled in front of +his eyes. Then he wanted to call out, "Don't shake it so fast ... +hold it still a moment." And as if he had been heard he would see +the tapestry suddenly clear and still before him ... and figures and +things would begin to move on it with a slow precision, with a single +action that seemed to be the whole story of what they could do. + +Now he found himself staring at a man and a woman who were sitting +opposite him. The woman's face had three sores on it, rosy and +pointed like little nipples. Her hands and her body were swollen, +only her lips were finely moulded with the delicacy of pain. The man +said nothing to her, only looked at her from time to time. "Well..." +Poldy thought, apologetically ... "well, they're not in very good +condition, but they could be sold for a pair." + +Then it was a beggar woman who was stopping in front of everyone for +alms, her palm cringing to her breast and her fingers cupped. "Not +because she is afraid," he said, "but to strike more suddenly." And +when she came and stood near him, he remembered ... count her +fingers, count her fingers. But the sum of her fingers was correct. +"Ah, but that won't do. You'll have to be more crippled than that +before I give you anything." And he looked deliberately before him, +to a place across the street where they were building. There he saw +a tent made of two steel beams meeting and filled in with sky, and he +saw four men dancing in it ... an archaic dance, their knees charging +and their hands lifted to a rope. The men were silent, no cry or +song passed between them, no voice of anyone directing. Yet they +moved in the unison of a perfect dance, feeling the rhythm from the +vibration of the rope against their palms. Poldy watched the step +with delight, and leaned forward to see it more clearly, forgetting +the beggar woman. + +And now a preacher came and mounted the steps to a sufficient +distance above the street. People gathered, assembling in different +places like well-trained resonators for his voice. Poldy did not +notice this swift gathering of the crowd, its rising around him like +stealthy water, until he was trapped in it ... standing on the +topmost step near the preacher and looking down at them. But the +sight of all the faces lifted to him was terrifying, and it seemed +that while they were listening to the preacher they were also +intently staring at him. A feeling of dizziness came over him, a +panic of all his senses, in which he saw everything suddenly +distorted and ominous. + +First it was the glasses ... The preacher was wearing glasses, and +the light splintered them into prisms that kept swarming back and +forth over his eyes, devouring them. But sometimes it seemed to +Poldy that the prisms stopped in their feasting and stared at him, +with a direct and terrible scrutiny. Otherwise nothing was clear. +The faces that looked up at him seemed to waver and turn into +loosely-tied balloons ... he could feel the strings that held them +fastened in his eyes. There were no other faces. The faces had +dissolved into a white foam that drifted waywardly over the shoulders +of the crowd, that was teased upward by the wind of the preacher's +voice. The faces were swinging back and forth over the shoulders of +the crowd with an ominous softness, like waters about to spring ... + +It was hot on the steps. He had been standing so long that his body +was going numb with the heat. He could feel his thighs fusing into a +paralysis, and the desire to walk and break their cohesion came over +him with physical pain. He wanted to move, he wanted to hide himself +from the faces that were swinging back and forth, preparing to spring +at him. Yet he was held there against his will ... the voice of the +preacher held him, as it went slyly from one pitch to another, like +the delicate passes of a hand hypnotising someone. He was held by +the preacher's glasses, with the prisms swarming back and forth over +them and devouring the preacher's eyes ... + +But now the voice asked them a question ... "What was it ... what was +it?" Poldy said to himself. He had heard it only a second ago, and +now he could not remember it. He saw the preacher's hands spread +wide like an echo of it ... he noticed the fingers, how white they +were and puffed high between the joints ... and he felt for a moment +that he had caught at something to steady him, that he could look at +the hand spread high in the air and stay his dizziness. But what was +he saying ... what was he saying? Strange that he could not +understand words any more ... Everyone understood, everyone was +laughing. He saw two women who stood near-by turn and smile to each +other with pleased and knowing expressions ... just as if they were +hearing a child play the difficult part of his lesson. Then again +there was nothing but the tide of faces, and the preacher's glasses +drifting on them ... drifting back and forth with the stupid +insistence of something floating on water ... + +And now he heard an old woman in the crowd murmuring amen. He heard +the sound of her amens like timid chirps, and then he saw a bird come +and perch on the rim of the fountain. He closed his eyes and +listened to the bird chirping ... such faint slow ones ... and after +that there came a soft steaming sound, that he knew was being made by +the old woman. Right there before the people she threw back her head +and let the sound steam softly out of her lips. It was terrible and +disgusting. He was afraid to open his eyes and see it. But it +stopped at last and he heard instead the voice of a thousand people +shouting, ever farther and farther away ... until that too changed +and became the preacher's voice, and the voice went on alone, probing +the silence like a fine and insistent needle. Yes, it was the voice +that was hurting him ... hurting everyone with its dainty probing +motions. A mass operation was being performed, and the preacher, by +slyly changing his voice, was taking up one fine instrument after +another. Somewhere in the crowd a man lifted his hand begging the +preacher to stop ... a silly helpless motion, as though the man was +under an anesthetic. And still the faces were drifting above the +shoulders of the crowd ... teased upward by the preacher's voice, +weary of levelness ... looking for someone who would serve as a +pillar for them to dance around. But at last the sermon ended, and +the choir stood up to sing.... + +Then there was only a moment. The faces found him ... they leaped +upon him in an orgy of whirling, he was the smooth shining cup in the +center of their whirling, he was the hollow funnel dancing like a top +in the core of a whirlpool. Nothing could save him from the faces +dancing closer and closer upon him, from the moment when, in their +frenzy, they would close in on the center of their whirling. But +just when he thought this would happen, he saw the bird perching +again on the rim of the fountain. Its body was tilted to one side +like a child's pencil stroke. It was going to fall but it flew away +instead, and then, through the roaring sound around him, Poldy heard +his own strange thought ... "Birds never fall, because they can +spread a net of wings to catch themselves in time..." The bird came +back and he saw its eye. The eye was a bubble that had come up to +the surface of feathers and stayed there looking out. It was a tiny +vortex swirling into bright black immobility. The bird tilted its +head and the eye did not spill over ... "A bird's eye does not spill +because its axis can balance the waters around it ... I can balance +the faces..." At that they receded from him. Here and there, with +lazy convergence the foam shaped itself into features, and he looked +up to see the preacher bending over him. "Are you all right now?" +the preacher asked. + +Poldy smiled and suffered them to raise him and help him walk to one +of the benches. He was ashamed of himself for fainting, and he +turned away, while they regarded him fearfully and sadly. It was +over now and the people departed. Only the women lingered on the +steps, strolling to and fro, luxuriating in the slowness of their +step, in the tenderness of walking arm in arm. The starched ripple +of voile and tapping rain of high heels accompanied them. Over that, +their voices ... a soft anarchic choir, fluttering up to a crescendo, +pausing like subsiding wings. Poldy heard them, and their voices and +the motion of their bodies had for him an indescribable beauty ... + +Meanwhile the sun was going away. Windows went blind one after +another as the sun left them ... the purple shadow of a tall building +splayed down into the street, where it rose and flooded the other +buildings. The girls walked ever more slowly, their feet on the +steps turned outward with an ancient barefoot placidity ... until the +sun was gone, and through the noise of the street day and night could +be heard together, as two notes of a chord held for a moment in +subtle equilibrium. And now one of the women passed him again, +walking alone this time, preoccupied and frowning a little. Their +eyes met, and Poldy thought she must have come back to speak to him. +He rose and stepped toward her, and looked eagerly into her face; and +when she turned away he caught her arm, fearful that she would leave +him. Seeing this, and the girl's silent struggle to free herself, +people gathered around them. Poldy tried to flee, but someone +grasped his wrist and held him ... and after that there was a +bewildering succession of places and people and voices, until he +found himself sitting alone. He did not understand what his offense +had been. He sat in his cell staring miserably at the floor, +wondering when they would let him out, and whether he would be in +time to meet David. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +1 + +The news of Poldy's arrest appeared in the papers. Having saved a +copy until one Sunday morning when he had time, Levine went to see +Lewis with it. Lewis read the notice without much interest; and +watching him as he read, Levine thought how well and contented Lewis +seemed. He rubbed the flesh between his eyebrows, where his forehead +felt as if it was tied into a knot, he touched his cheeks that were +taut with nights of sleeplessness. "Yes, we have changed places," he +reflected bitterly. + +Lewis put the paper aside with a soft chuckle. "But how could Poldy +insult a woman?" he asked. "He wouldn't, I think, know what to say." + +"It's newspaper parlance," Levine said. "Incidentally, what does he +live on?" + +"Why he had enough money with him to last a long while. Besides, +there's a fortune waiting for him when he appears." + +"I suppose some of it should be used in tracing him?" + +Lewis shrugged his shoulders. "What difference does it make?" he +asked brusquely. "He'll come back when he's ready. As for the +money, he always felt rather guilty about it. Why ... I don't know. +He was one of those people who take everything to heart." + +"But you were worried about him in the beginning..." Levine said +slowly. "When you left the hospital..." + +Lewis fingered his chin and looked at a corner of the room. "Yes, at +the beginning ... But you know," he added sharply, "I'm not +responsible for him." + +They were silent, aware that they were watching each other. +Self-consciously Lewis shifted his posture, and Levine glanced about +the room with a too deliberate interest in its details. He saw now +that the most they could hope for would be short uneasy interludes of +conversation, with long silences between. And he decided to leave as +soon as he could. + +"I suppose Lustbader pays you well?" + +"I've left Lustbader's ... Found something better to do," Lewis +added, in answer to Levine's look of surprise. + +"That's very good, then." + +Again there was silence, during which Lewis picked up the paper, and +mechanically re-read the notice of Poldy's arrest. + +"Where is Ruth?" Levine asked, when he had finished. + +"She walks a great deal in back of the house ... that is, when I'm +busy here." He made his voice deliberately casual. "You're not +looking well..." + +Levine nodded. "Bothered ... bothered," he repeated. "Nothing +serious, but a few things bother me." + +"I read that you resigned from the Konig case." + +"Yes, I resigned..." + +"And the other rumors..." + +"True also," Levine said with a wry smile. While Lewis looked at him +eagerly, he heard the words in his head as if they were part of a +game. "Changed places ... changed places." + +"Are you going to be permanently out of it?" + +"I don't know," Levine answered slowly. "There's no way of knowing." + +"I don't understand..." + +Levine seemed lost in thought, sitting with his head resting on his +hands and his fingers stretching the flesh over his eyes as if he +would tear it. "No, there's no way of knowing," he burst out +angrily, "there's no way of telling what to do. They say there are +dreams to guide us, but that's all nonsense. Even then you must ask: +What is the purpose of the dream, which part of it shall I believe?" + +"If you know what you want to do," Lewis said decisively, "if you +want to escape from anything, then you must do it. I left +Lustbader's the same day that I made up my mind to do it." + +"Ah ... if you _know_," Levine retorted. "But how can you be sure? +They say that there are all sorts of things to guide us, yet nothing +is reliable. If a dream comes to you that seems to express the +innermost purpose of your soul, even then you must ask yourself in +the morning, which part shall I pick out? Here lately I dream +constantly that I am going through some elaborate ritual. I can't +tell you the queer feeling it gives me, of its being a mysterious and +profound ritual, which must be carefully followed in every detail. +The purpose of it is never clear to me, but I know that I must watch +every gesture I make, or the ritual will be broken and a terrible +calamity will follow. There are many people involved, and some of +them are in archaic dress, that seems to me to be Persian. And +things are handed from one to another, though I cannot tell what they +are. And always this fear ... this terrible fear that the ritual +will be broken. Every morning at the moment when I wake up I think I +know what it means. But then I ask myself, which part of it shall I +believe? Is the end, the consummation of the ritual important, or my +fear that it will be broken? It would seem simple to choose one or +the other. Yet if you do, something says: 'You have only _chosen_.' +No," Levine added, striking the table angrily with his fist. "Nobody +can tell what it means. They think they know, but it isn't true. No +one can discover the innermost wish of his being." + +Lewis regarded him curiously. "I don't understand that..." he said +slowly. "I know what my wish is, and I have obeyed it." + +"What is it?" + +There was a moment's hesitation before Lewis spoke. "I was not +made," he said somewhat lamely, "to play the organ at Lustbader's." + +"What were you made for?" Levine asked mildly. + +"I'm working," Lewis began, lowering his voice mysteriously, "on a +symphony, that will mean fame and money in the end..." + +Levine drew in his breath with a low whistle. He was about to speak +when the sound of Ruth's footsteps interrupted him. She was coming +up the stairs, and her steps were slow and faltering, as if she moved +with great difficulty. He looked inquiringly at Lewis. + +"Yes," Lewis nodded, speaking in a lower voice, "two months ago. But +it doesn't mean anything," he added smiling craftily. "One can do +that to a woman merely to show one's power over her. It means +nothing." + +They waited in silence while Ruth made her slow progress up the +stairs, pausing often to rest, and breathing heavily. Outside the +door she seemed to hesitate a long time; but at last she entered, +and, seeing Levine, greeted him with a look of silent recognition. +She sat down as one who has intruded and wishes to be unobserved ... +her head slightly forward and her eyes downcast in an attitude of +listening. Only once did she look up, as though she were about to +say something over which she had been pondering. But she did not +speak, and her expression of listening and thinking did not change. +At last, aware that her presence made them silent, she rose and went +out of the room, moving always with a peculiar carefulness in her +walk, as if her body must not touch anything. Lewis walked back and +forth impatiently until she was gone. + +"She pretends," he burst out bitterly, "she pretends. There's no +need for her to be so careful. What is she afraid of? What does she +think will happen to her?" + +"You heard her on the stairs?" he continued after a moment, his +nostrils trembling and showing white with anger. "And now, this ... +this horrible cake-walk. I know! Of course I know. Well then, what +does she expect me to do?" + +"Perhaps it has something to do with your leaving Lustbader's," +Levine said slowly. "You'll need money." + +"No, that's not why she advertises herself that way. It's a game +she's playing with me. In case I forget..." he broke off and +regarded Levine craftily. "Besides, there'll be more money in the +end than Lustbader could ever have paid me. I'll be provided for," +he added, clapping his fist against his palm with confident briskness. + +While he prepared to go, Levine looked at Lewis shrewdly. "If it's +no good?" he asked softly. + +"If it's no good..." Lewis repeated and paused. The muscles of his +face quivered between a desire to retort, and the impulse to laugh. +He finished by laughing needlessly long at the impossibility of +Levine's suggestion. Hearing it, Ruth came into the room, and when +Levine moved to the door she followed him with unexpected swiftness. +"What do you think of it?" she asked in a low voice. "The thing he's +working on. Is it any good?" + +"It may be..." + +"But we have very little to live on. What should we do?" + +"I don't know." Levine's voice was impatient. "I don't know what to +tell you. It seems necessary to him." + +"No, it's not," Ruth said, her eyes flashing with sudden defiance. +"I tell you it's not." + +"How can you tell?" + +"It's not necessary," she repeated stubbornly. "I know that it's +not. It's stupid ... the whole business is stupid." + +Levine stood uncertainly in the doorway, and Lewis came over and +regarded them curiously. "Bannerman wants to know whether you care +to take Poldy's pictures," Levine said, raising his voice casually. +"Otherwise he'll throw them out. They're in his way." + +"I don't want them," Lewis answered. He had not thought of Poldy for +a long time. But it was about this time that he began to be haunted +by Poldy's face. Often when he walked in the crowded streets he +thought he saw it, and then something would compel him to follow +until he could catch a better glimpse of the face, and assure himself +that he was mistaken. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +1 + +Life was very satisfactory to David Solner. To begin with, he spent +a great deal of time away from the shop, delivering bundles of basted +coat lining ... a pleasant occupation since it gave him liberty to +roam around and observe things. Then he had been specially fortunate +some time ago in witnessing the scene on the street, when the police +disbanded the gathering around the man who was peddling knives. And +lastly he had made the acquaintance of Leopold Crayle, who had been +greatly impressed with what he said, had taken his card, and came +very often to visit him. Recalling this, David stepped along briskly +and smiled to himself, hardly aware of all the complicated machinery +of his walking. He felt on playful terms with his leg, and gave it +an extra shake while he was crossing the street. But this caused him +to loose his balance, and he careened towards a team of horses that +was rounding the curb. In terror he glanced at the huge heads +tossing above him, he heard an outcry of hoofs and the voices of +people shouting. Then he felt himself thrown to the paving, where he +lay and waited. But finding that nothing happened, he righted +himself with great dignity and sat down at the curb. Slowly he +looked around. A crowd had gathered, the driver standing in the +foreground, his hands on his hips; and while the driver contemplated +him in satirical silence, a street cleaner came, brushed his paste of +manure and water under David's legs, walked around him and continued +on his way. + +All this was very humiliating. The expert on authority looked as +though he might burst into tears. He lifted his hands before him, +the fingers spread wide, and with an elaborate jerk dropped his head +into his outstretched hands. Behind his fingers his eyelids quivered +like tiny wings caught behind a screen. At last he parted his +fingers a little and looked out. Everyone had gone. + +And now it occurred to him that he was late, and that Anna would +scold him, and he wished he were alone in a place where he could +weep. He wished that Mirelie would see him at this moment, and pity +him ... perhaps be kind enough to talk to him. Then they would be +friends, and nothing else would matter any more. Yes, if only +Mirelie were not afraid of him, if they could only speak to each +other, then his whole life would change and he would be happy. And +he arose sadly and continued on his way, thinking of her. And now he +lifted his arm and held it bent at the elbow, with the hand drooping +piteously; and at every step he contorted his face into a grimace of +distaste. So Mirelie might see him when he came in, and comfort him +at last... + +But when he entered the shop it was so dark that he could hardly tell +which of the figures sitting and sewing there was Mirelie. He could +not see the needles or thread, and the women who were sewing and Anna +and Mirelie moved their hands in the air like witches performing a +silent spell together. When his footsteps sounded in the doorway, +Anna turned her head without looking up; and while he waited for her +to speak, David made out the figure of Mirelie. She had put her +sewing aside and now looked mournfully toward the window, and by the +sad droop of her head and the listless way she held her hands in her +lap, David knew that she had been crying. Then the spell had not +been a silent one, but done to the rhythm of Anna's scolding ... her +voice always balanced on one key, yet with an overtone of hysteria, +as if at any moment it might veer away and run amuck over the scale. + +"Late, my sweetheart," Anna began. "Two hours late. You take a +cripple for an errand boy and that's your reward. A pile of coats +waiting to be pressed, and it takes him two hours to run around the +corner. Well, turn on the gas..." + +David almost skipped across the room, and lit the gas, and set to +work as quickly as he could. And now, as he stood on the machine, +balancing himself with one foot on the trestle, he could look his +fill at Mirelie and notice everything she did. Mirelie was a very +thin little girl, with large breasts that swung under her dress every +time she moved, and a braid of heavy black hair hanging down her +back. Her head always seemed to droop a little, as if she was +pulling forward against the weight of her braid; and when she walked +on the street she held her thin arms folded in front of her, to hide +the swinging of her breasts. Sometimes when he saw her sewing at the +table David thought she was a grown woman ... her expression was so +serious, her body looked so mature. But there would be a sound on +the street ... a hand-organ playing or the whistle of the fire +engine, or only the wind ... and she would drop her work and run to +the window. And by the way she stood there ... her knees straight +and stiff and her hands locked behind her back ... David knew she was +still a child. Even now, though he could not hear anything himself, +something seemed to startle Mirelie, and she ran to the window +listening. "It is good," David said to himself. "She has dreams, +even while she is awake." + +But Anna had been silent too long. "Look," she said scornfully to +the other women, "how fast she runs. A little piece of offal, I tell +you, but it has legs." + +"Leave off ... leave off, Anna," they whispered to her. + +"Now to the window, now to the door, now to that corner, perhaps ... +never to the same place twice." She lifted her voice mockingly. +"Tell me, Mirelie, is he coming, your sweetheart?" + +"Leave off, Anna. There are always things for a child to see." + +"Then you don't believe that she has a sweetheart? Listen..." She +paused and looked around impressively. "Some day our Mirelie will +get married." + +At this they all laughed, and Anna nodded her head triumphantly. +"What makes her run to the window that way? What does she think +about, all the time that she sits there sewing without saying a word? +Oh, she's a sly one, keeping him all to herself. But some day she'll +fool us all, and come marching in with a husband on her arm. Yes, +there's a mate for everyone in this world, even for Mirelie." + +The others worked away silently, but Anna was not through yet. She +folded her sewing and drew the rocking chair closer to the table, and +settled herself comfortably. + +"I'll tell you how it is," she began, as if it were going to be a +very long story. "All her strength goes into her hair. Hair grows +best on deformed things ... I've always noticed that. In the woods +near our town there used to be a dead tree. The lightning struck it +once and sliced right into the trunk, and it never blossomed after +that. But this very tree, mind you, had fine green hair growing out +of the trunk year after year ... so long that you could braid it. +And everything else in that forest died after a while, except the +hair growing out of the tree." + +"Really, Anna ... But the hair must have died too." + +"No, but it didn't," Anna retorted. "And I remember that there was a +dwarf in our town, and he had long hair hanging down his back, just +like a girl's. Yes, it's quite true," she added thoughtfully, "hair +grows best on deformed things." + +Meanwhile Mirelie slipped back to her place, and sat looking at Anna +with eyes that seemed hypnotized. She pretended that all the witches +from the fairy-tales were sitting around her and sewing, and weaving +a spell upon her, and the steady flow of Anna's words was the +terrible incantation. She looked furtively at Anna's hands, and saw +the balls of her fingers like large full-fleshed petals, and it +terrified her that they were so large. It terrified her when Anna +laughed, throwing her head far back and letting it fall forward +again, as if it was too heavy with laughter. But while she watched +this Mirelie pricked her finger, and Anna noticed her sucking her +thumb. + +"Handy one," she said. "Come here and let me squeeze it for you." +Timidly Mirelie extended her hand, and Anna examined it curiously. +"No blood ... not enough blood there to flow when she pricks her +thumb. Well, never mind the sewing, Mirelie, since you're so good at +it. See whether you can sweep." + +But as Mirelie took the broom from the corner and began to sweep, +tears came to her eyes. Her broom turned up fine white threads that +clung to the cracks in the floor, and would not come out unless she +stooped down and plucked them with her fingers. It was as if an +invisible basting of the floor was being ripped, and she said to +herself: "The floor was only basted together and now it will come +apart. Let it." And she bent lower to hide her tears. + +* * * * * * * + +After a while the two women put their sewing away and went home, and +Anna and David and Mirelie had supper. Then David and Mirelie went +back to the shop and were alone there, yet they did not speak to each +other. It was as if they had started to play a game ... a silent +game, in which there was some penalty if they were caught looking at +each other. But though this was the rule of the game, Mirelie could +tell each minute exactly what David was doing. With sly glances she +followed him about the room, watched him when he lit the gas ... +turning the jet cautiously at first, so that the flame showed thin +and tight as a bud; then with a quick twist of his hand flaring it up +into a leaf, and looking at her triumphantly. All evening David was +busy pressing things, and she watched him dancing up and down on the +machine, and listened to the sound of the boards hissing against each +other. If they stayed together for a long time she could hear all +sorts of melodies coming from them, and the pressing machine seemed +like a queer hurdy gurdy that could play by shutting its lips +tightly. But if David noticed her she would look away quickly, and +amuse herself by trying to guess what sort of a person it would be to +buy each suit hanging in the window. There was one suit especially +... blue with faint gray stripes ... that made her think of David. +She could even imagine it was David hanging in the window, with his +arms drooping limply at his sides, and the short curve of hanger for +his head; and often when she was alone in the shop, she wanted to +turn down the cuff of the right trouser, and shake it in the air like +David's long leg. But after a while David would look away, and +Mirelie could watch him again as he worked and bent his head forward +into the light. Then she would notice the long coarse hairs standing +out from his eyebrows like the stringy roots of something growing +inside his head, and she would try to count them. Most of the time +David did not seem to notice her, and went about his work like a +blind person who has no need to stop and look around. But there +always came one time in the course of the evening ... and always +after he had leaped on the machine and was standing there, lightly +bouncing his body up and down ... when he would turn and survey the +shop with an air of great surprise. And that was the moment when he +looked fully at Mirelie and their eyes met, and all their careful +playing of the game was spoiled. Seeing her, David would purse his +lips and frown. But that only frightened Mirelie. At that moment +she was afraid that the machine would suddenly begin to move, and he +would ride toward her. + +Tonight, however, David seemed especially preoccupied. He kept +glancing at the clock or going to the door and looking up and down +the crowded street. When at last there was a knock at the door he +bounded off the machine. Poldy came in and stood uncertainly in the +center of the room. + +"I'll be ready for you in a minute," David said gaily, raising his +forefinger to Poldy. He leaped up on the machine again and nodded +brightly to his visitor. "Sit down on the couch." + +Poldy sat down without a word, and after a moment's thought, +stretched himself full length and closed his eyes, conscious for the +moment before he closed them of Mirelie's solemn scrutiny. Mirelie, +noting with pleasure his dark hair and white face, wondered whether +this was the lover that Anna had foretold for her. Often she +speculated on what it was to be married, and when Anna accused her of +thinking of a sweetheart her heart thumped as if they had caught her +stealing. Now she sat stealthily watching the stranger; but as soon +as David was through with his work she was frightened of his speaking +to her, and she rose and slipped out of the room. David went over to +Poldy and tapped him on the shoulder, but Poldy did not stir. +"Asleep..." David commented, as he bent closer to look into his face. +He stood for a while frowning. "Oh, very well, then..." he said, and +shrugged his shoulders. He went to the door that separated the shop +from Mirelie's room and shut it softly, very softly. And as soon as +he had done this anger seized him. All day it had been waiting, and +the soft shutting of the door was the cue for it. + + +2 + +It burst from the swollen veins of his throat and flooded through his +body, and beat against the flesh of his palms. It set his body +trembling so that he stood with hands clenched against it, with +fingers clenched and defiant, trying to drive back the tide of his +rage. Meanwhile they ranged themselves about him ... the beings who +seek out mortals to strike bargains with them, wherever there is a +ransom to give: disease or deformity or genius ... shadows that he +could hardly see in the dark, with the naked bodies of gigantic men; +save where a focus of more ancient flesh, still virulent, gave off a +wing or a curved fin, or webbed their long toes together. They came +and alighted with the rustling motion of birds, and folded their +limbs under them, and perched in a semi-circle on the floor ... +watching him. And now he thought it must come ... that mysterious +accession of strength that he brooded over day and night. Now he +felt it was coming upon him, while the potent flow of anger was still +in his body ... a wild chaotic strength, to lift terrible weights and +hurl them great distances, so that everyone would look with +astonishment, and thousands of people would marvel at him and utter +his name with fear. "Is it too much?" he whispered scornfully, "is +it too much?" But they only shifted their limbs with a noiseless +motion, and the tide of his rage recoiled on itself, and flowed back +into its secret channels again. He stood there exhausted, peering +bewilderedly into the darkness. + +After a while an idea came to him. He nodded to himself. "Yes," he +said, "I have been too hasty. I have asked for it too openly, and +besides I have asked for the impossible. Perhaps they do not know +what I mean. Perhaps I can trick them into something else. I will +be very reasonable in my demands, and I will appear innocent and take +them off their guard." + +So he turned on the light and took his ocarina from the box, and sat +down on the bed, his feet curled easily round each other ... He began +to play ... sad, wayward trills that slipped impulsively from one +note to another; and while he played he watched them craftily to see +what they did, noticing how they were moved by his music, how they +shifted imperceptibly into postures of sadness. To himself, then, he +said: "To play so that everyone will listen and be unable to go away +... to play so that they will laugh or weep as I wish; or perhaps..." +he added in a conciliatory tone, "let only Mirelie hear, and look at +me solemnly. Yes, we will let it go at that ... that only Mirelie +should hear." But though he looked towards the door for a long time, +though he looked and played, Mirelie did not come in. He ended his +playing and remained sitting on the bed, resting his head in his +hands. + +But now the tallest of the figures perching on the floor ... the one +who held the center of the circle and was their spokesman ... sighed +lengthily. He had been sitting with his knees drawn up and his head +sleeping on his folded arms; but now he raised his head a little so +that one bright eye was visible, looking solemnly at David. Brightly +it glowed for a long time, yet he did not speak. + +"Well?" David asked impatiently. + +The eye continued to regard him. + +"If you've nothing to say," David began petulantly, "then why are you +here? You have no bargains to strike today, I see. No, I wouldn't +call you a generous lot. Tell me, must I think of something so small +that you will shame yourselves and give it to me? Shall I ask that +my nails be rosy or my teeth even at the edges? Such things, I've +heard, comfort some people. But thank you. I'm not so easily +satisfied." + +"Why aren't you?" the spokesman asked lazily, and his eye quivered as +if he wanted to go back to sleep. + +"A fine question that! Why do you pretend that you don't know?" + +The spokesman closed his eye and David thought he had gone off into +deep slumber. But at length he remarked drowsily, "The trouble is, +David, you're too excited about being a cripple." + +David bolted up in bed and shot a reproachful glance at him. The +spokesman opened his eye and looked back. "Yes, much too excited," +he added. "Look at _him_..." he pointed to Poldy. "_He_ doesn't +want anything any more. He's ended ... positively ended. But you've +been too excited all your life." + +"Pretending again!" David retorted. "My friend, you ought to be +quite a success at shopping. Yes, I've seen how the women sneer at +the wares they want to buy, while their fingers itch to be holding +them. Why are you here, then, if it's so little to have found me? I +suppose others have better ransoms to give. Why not go to them?" + +"It's not such a wonderful ransom..." + +"Oh, no ... to be the puppet of my legs, to hop along like a child's +grotesque toy. They saw it in the window with the other toys, and +brought it home because it would make them all laugh. To carry +myself down the street turning every face as I pass, leaving a smoke +of faces behind me like a peace offering to my deformity. Could I +only have had one moment of my life when I could forget that I was +different..." + +The spokesman's eye opened wider as he listened. "As for your being +different," he began at once, "from the very beginning there have +been so many weird shapes on this earth that we cannot justly talk of +anything being different. Consider the deformity of all men who go +about like the trained horses at the circus reared up so as to make a +spectacle of the secret parts of their bodies, and who, because of +this vainglorious exhibition, have to twist themselves around every +time to look at their dung. Now to pursue the subject further ... +have you ever been to the circus?" + +"Yes, of course..." + +"You may have seen there a dog with two tongues, let us say, or a +wolf with a curved horn ... some such trifling thing for people to +gape at. Well, all that fuss is really quite ridiculous. All that +oh-ing and ah-ing with which they tickle themselves from cage to +cage. _They_, of course, cook things up in pots and let them pour to +the mould of their dishes, and so they know what to expect. But +things were never cooked up in pots to begin with. There's a +constant spilling over all the time. Your leg trickled down a little +too long. Why be so excited over it?" + +"Ah ... that's all very clever. But answer this one: why did it +happen to me?" + +"What makes you think it happened to you?" + +"Oh, come, now..." + +"No, don't be impatient. Because if that's what has been bothering +you, I think we can arrange it." + +"Arrange it?" + +"Yes," the spokesman winked solemnly. "If you'll be agreeable, of +course, and help me along." + +"Very well, go on." David lay down and turned his face to the wall. + +"Yes, you sit in the theatre and you think the actor on the stage is +looking at you. It's a natural thing now, isn't it..." + +"Go on, go on..." + +"Now let us assume that it happened to you." + +"Nonsense! That's no assumption." + +"Well, let us assume that it was _meant_ to happen to you. Is that +better?" + +"Go on..." + +"In that case there had to be somebody to mean it ... to correspond +to the actor, let us say." + +"Yes..." + +"Someone who knew he was looking at you..." + +"Yes..." + +"And so this glance that the actor gave you is the reason why you are +crippled. But if there's a reason for that, then there must also be +a reason for the fact, say..." + +"That Mirelie has black hair." + +"Precisely ... and that Anna has a mole on her face." + +"And that Mirelie is thin..." + +"Precisely. And that a child was run over the other day." + +"In short, a reason for everything." + +"Excellent! Excellent! You see it's a game you can never stop. +Each thing has a reason, as many reasons as there are separate +details which we can comprehend in this world, and yet reasons again +for all the infinite happenings that we cannot know about. Ah, but +notice. You've cooked, haven't you? You've said: here I shall salt +and here and here, until it is all salted. And then the strange +thing occurs. You taste it, and nothing is flavored because you have +salted everything. Salted, but not salty. And so with your reasons. +If everything has a reason..." + +David turned around angrily. "Salted but not salty..." he mimicked. +"Keep your analogies. Was it my fault that the actor looked at me?" + +"Or his fault that you sat where he looked?" + +"Clever ... very clever. But I'll tell you my friend. You have +never played some of the children's games, and that's the trouble +with you. You've never looked at the pattern of the wallpaper, +saying to yourself: I can look at it this way, and see spades with +hearts between; or this way, and see only the hearts in a row. Yes, +if you had ever looked at the pattern of wall-paper both ways, you +would know what an old trick it is." + +"Very well, then," the spokesman said mildly. "I'm sorry. I just +wanted to arrange it." + +"Besides, since you talk of cooking so much, I'll take the same +liberty. Things must be salted and sugared. And some reasons are +salt and some are sweet ... we can tell by the flavor of things. So +that all your fine arguments only bring us to restate the question. +Why was I, so to speak, made salty?" + +The spokesman stared at him ... a little stupidly, David thought. + +"Salty?" he repeated. + +David laughed bitterly. "Ah ... I see all this talk of cooking won't +do. Things were never cooked up in pots to begin with. We'll try +again. If there is a person who corresponds to the actor, and if he +does look at us while he's acting ... what does he want? It's his +old lust for sacrifice, and because he does not know whom to choose, +he looks and strikes someone with a sign of difference, and then +thinks he has something." + +At this the spokesman looked up brightly and began to talk with +garbling rapidity. "Ah, sacrifice, to be sure. The bleeding heart +torn from the living offering by the forthright fingers of the +priest. Fire, or the spike, or the cross, as a background for the +gesture of agony. A somewhat morbid emphasis on vivisection, I +should say, yet in its way a rather pretty pantomime of the real +state of affairs. Well, it's very natural for you to feel that way +about it, especially since you have the qualification of suffering; +and, as I said, it's the right idea though very crudely expressed." + +"Then you admit..." + +The spokesman shook his head reproachfully. "Patience," he urged, +"we must think this out carefully. Now as I mentioned before, these +sacrificial offerings were a rather apt pantomime of the real state +of affairs. For the whole idea behind a sacrifice is to maintain a +balance. Savages, who practiced it, were still alert enough to feel +the precarious equilibrium of the universe, they glimpsed the +profound truth that everything is in a state of balance that +constantly strains towards disruption. And so they made their +infinitesimal contribution to preserving that balance ... a rather +superfluous attempt, like blowing over the scales." + +David raised himself on his elbow and looked at the spokesman. "What +makes you think that all things are in balance?" + +"Please," the spokesman began peevishly, "don't behave that way. We +have to start with something, don't we? I chose that point of +beginning because I thought it would be the least offensive." + +"Very well, continue." David lay down again. But the next moment he +raised his head and asked: "But why was the attempt superfluous?" + +"That's just the point." The spokesman's eye quivered his approval. +"Because, when the tension of things was first established, it was +not left to the accidental activities of human beings to maintain it. +All the time, subtly and imperceptibly, there is an adjustment going +on that keeps things in balance. As it applies to the human world, +we might state it crudely by saying that human beings pay for each +other. Invisible currency passes between them which settles all +their debts to each other, voids all their accounts. Savages had +some inkling of this, when, realizing that they were the debtors of +their living sacrifice, they squared their accounts by calling him a +god. A little private bribe, you understand, to put him in good +humor. And a great game, really ... this keeping things balanced, +and ideally suited as a pastime for eternity; because you can't ever +find two things that are equal, and so your left hand and your right +hand are both kept busy, forever working the scales with alternate +motions. And you can't take a rest for a minute, either..." + +"I can just picture it," David said admiringly. "However, instance +... instance..." + +"We shall come to that. Now let us say that the souls of people are +tiny and intricate stones, with points and facets and hollows ... +each stone marvelously small, yet convoluted a thousand different +ways. And let us say that each stone contains within itself a unique +magnetism, to attract that single other stone with which it can +articulate. And so all the souls of the world are held together in a +chain, no thread going through the chain and yet it can never fall +apart. Love is not necessary. It is only the name for a hysterical +fear that the souls may fall apart, the fear of those who do not +understand the intimate embrace of these tiny stones, who do not know +that their intercourse is more profound than the intercourse of +love..." + +"Well, continue," David interrupted peevishly. "These fancies put me +to sleep. You're an ingenious one." + +"Now these stones work on each other with a subtle attrition, and +though their surfaces may change, they cannot unlock themselves, +because they always change _into_ each other. And sometimes one can +feel this silent imperceptible rotation of the stones. Slowly it +works, as if they were turning in a profound dream." + +"Instance..." David repeated, sighing wearily. + +"Oh, very well then. Now what happened here a few days ago?" + +"A child was run over." + +"You remember it?" + +"I saw it. The mother ran to the curb and screamed at the fellow who +was driving the truck, and shook her fist at him. He only curled his +head around and looked back curiously, but he didn't stop." + +"No, he didn't..." + +"She almost stepped on the little girl. Her skirt fell over the +child's face, and her foot even touched the flesh of it, but she +didn't seem to notice. Then she kept turning around, upbraiding all +those who were watching her, because they hadn't stopped the driver. +She spun herself round with her arms stretched out under her shawl, +and her fingers tearing at the fringes, pleading with them to tell +her why no one had stopped him. She only wanted the reason, she said +... that would satisfy her. Then she cursed them because no one had +thrown himself in front of the truck to _make_ it stop, and next she +asked for the number of the truck, but nobody knew it. They just +stood there and looked at her stupidly. And next she caught sight of +a little boy who had been playing with her child when it happened..." +David broke off and laughed heartily. "You remember those circle +games we used to play in kindergarten..." he said. "Somebody stands +in the center of the circle and we all sing: 'Come and choose your +partner.' For all the world it was just like one of those games." +He was silent, chuckling to himself. "Well, suddenly she ran over to +this little boy," he resumed briskly, "and stood before him begging +him to tell her the number of the truck. The poor little fellow just +looked around sheepishly..." + +"And the child?" + +"Somebody carried it into the house. The mother never seemed to +care, though she stopped for a moment and watched the fellow as he +picked the little girl up, and fixed her dress and put his hand +gently to the back of her head, just as if she were asleep. After a +while they brought out a chair and the mother sat down and acted very +petulant. If anyone came over to her she shook her shoulders like a +peevish young girl. And then--" + +"I see that you're a very careful observer," the spokesman +interrupted politely. "And can you tell me what's happening on the +street now?" + +"Why, she's been on the street almost constantly now for the last +four days." + +"Four days, you say! I must see her." + +"No, don't trouble yourself. I can tell you all about it. She's a +very important personage now. They say people come from blocks +around just to see her." + +"Sits and mourns for her child, I suppose..." + +"Oh, no, she's forgotten the child entirely. In fact she's quite +happy ... looks rosy and bright-eyed. I never thought she could look +so pretty. You see, after the child's funeral she went directly to a +sign painter, and she had him paint her two large signs. Something +to this effect: I shall give a reward to any person who can tell me +the license number of the truck that ran over and killed my +eight-year-old girl on the morning of ... I forget the date. But she +has the date and the place there and the exact time, so that there +can't be any mistake. They say that the sign painter composed it for +her, and he did a very nice job ... different sized letters, and some +letters in red and others in green. The sign is white, I think. And +she has these signs attached to her ... one in front and one in back. +And all day she parades around near the place where it happened..." + +"Mm ... quite a curiosity. It's a liberal reward, I suppose?" + +"No, she's poor. Not a thing to give. It's just a figure of speech, +this talk of a reward." + +"Now that's very interesting ... very." The spokesman nodded +judicially. "Her whole case, in fact, hinges on that point. +Everything would be different if there _was_ a reward. You see that, +I suppose." + +"Explain." + +"Because," the spokesman said thoughtfully, "if she really wanted to +know that license number, there would be a real reward. Which +proves, then, that she doesn't want to know it. Looks well, you say?" + +"Rises early, fixes herself carefully and dresses in her signs as if +she was an actress preparing for her entrance." David paused, +suddenly tired of his narrative and feeling very drowsy. He was +almost asleep when the spokesman's voice roused him, saying lazily, +"Well, now, doesn't that prove it?" + +"Prove what..." David asked sleepily. "I've forgotten." + +The spokesman's eye narrowed slyly. "That people pay for each +other," he said. + +"Explain ... explain." + +"Now wasn't," the spokesman began in a lazy voice, "wasn't the life +of this eight-year-old girl the price that had to be paid first, +before the mother could parade herself between her two signs? And +didn't the child's death have to come about in just this way? And +wasn't it necessary for the driver not to stop? For if he had +stopped, then the mother could not have put on her masquerade of +signs, and the child would have died for nothing. Now some would say +the driver was the villain in the case, but I don't think so, I don't +think so at all. Though of course," he added thoughtfully, "it is a +rather heavy price for such a trifle. I shouldn't want to argue the +point. Though who knows? In the balancing of all things it may not +be exorbitant, neither may the mother's parade be such a trifle as it +seems." + +There was a long silence, but after a while David sat up and looked +searchingly at the spokesman. + +"It's a lie," he said. + +"What is?" + +"It's a lie," he repeated angrily, "that people pay for each other. +And it's clever, very clever, my friend, since you cannot understand +words, but only numbers, to set yourself up in bookkeeping. If you +knew the meaning of words, if only one word could be made clear to +you, then you would laugh at your pretentious bookkeeping, you would +laugh at everything you've said tonight. A number must be balanced +all the time by another number. But a word does not need to be +balanced. Let us say it was the mother's grief." + +"Now don't excite yourself. Let's remain friends. For all I know," +the spokesman added blandly, "it may be a lie. But what makes you +think so?" His eyebrow moved toward the center of his forehead, to +meet the invisible puckering of the other eye, an effect so comical +that David had to laugh. + +"Well, have you read the fairy tales?" he asked more kindly. + +"Which fairy tales? Please be specific." + +"All of them ... any one of them ... they're all true, any way. But +I was referring to the one where the prince is supposed to go forth +on dangerous adventures. But while he keeps in his hand a small +round mirror and gazes at his reflection in it, nothing can harm him, +neither can he see all the horrors through which he must pass." + +"A very magic mirror." + +"No, there you're mistaken. For the mirror is an ordinary piece of +looking-glass, a broken piece that the goose-girl in his father's +palace begged him to take. But still, while he looks into it he does +not see the terrors that surround him." + +"A charming story," the spokesman yawned. "How does it apply?" + +"Why, the mother," David said slowly, "has found a mirror. And while +she looks into it, she will not know that her child is dead. It was +often a plant that had to be tended..." + +"Really?" The spokesman yawned again and closed his eye. "Well, I +wanted to arrange it," he said drowsily. "I heard you saying one +time, 'They owe me something." + +"Ah ... that afternoon ... to him. To that fool who sleeps, and who +is, as you say, ended. Wasn't that the word?" + +"Precisely..." + +"Tell me, did he believe it?" + +"Believe what?" + +"You know what I mean," David said impatiently. "About my being an +expert on authority." + +The spokesman opened his eye that quivered with sleepiness. "Do +_you_ believe it?" + +David was silent, intently regarding him. + +"It's confusing now, isn't it..." + +David did not answer. + +"You pretend to enjoy it, but you don't. And that means you don't +believe it. Isn't that so? Isn't it true," the spokesman coaxed, +"that if you don't enjoy a thing, then you really don't believe it?" + +Still David was silent. At last he spoke softly. "So you too +thought of that." + +"Oh, yes," the spokesman said cheerfully, "I think of everything. +But is it true?" he asked, and looked at David, his eye glistening +with eagerness ... "that you need the whole human race for a payment? +Now suppose they offered _you_ a sacrifice..." + +"Well, what? What would they give me?" David asked sharply. + +"You said," the spokesman continued smoothly, "that he strikes +someone with a sign of difference, and in that way he chooses a +sacrifice. Now suppose _you_ were to try it." + +Again there was a long silence, the spokesman's eye closing slowly, +so that David wondered whether he had fallen asleep. At last David +broke the silence, but his voice sounded far away, as if he too were +asleep. + +"Yes ... suppose it is Mirelie," he said softly. "Whom you must +strike with the sign of difference." + +"But Mirelie..." David said, and his voice was troubled. "She is not +like others." + +"Why not?" + +"She is not like others," David repeated, a note of pleading in his +voice. + +"Do you think she is too bright for you, then? Do you think she is +too proud and too free? Yet in every person in the world there is +the secret power for shame. There is no one so wilful or proud or +free that he has lost it. And in nature there is death. Death was +provided, in order that all things might be shamed. In nature there +is no bird or insect or flower so bright that it cannot die. +Besides," he added craftily, "she belongs to you." + +He waited for David to speak, and when there was no answer he +continued, his voice low and thoughtful. "She belongs to you. It is +you who have the expert knowledge of degradation ... you who have +sounded the depths of it and searched through all its intricate +disguises. Each person walks before you with his entrails exposed +... a crowded, convoluted circle, like dainties in a box that one +sees through a little circle of transparent paper. I tell you that +_because_ Mirelie is so bright and free, she can be more humiliated +... she is capable of greater degradation. And then consider," the +spokesman finished with a little laugh, "she looked a long time at +your friend there. He's attractive." + +David only stared at the floor and said nothing. + +"Lastly," the spokesman's voice was now so drowsy that David could +hardly hear it, "as we said before, people pay for each other. It +will balance ... it will balance," the voice sang softly. "She will +even love her shame." And as he went off to sleep he mused to +himself. "For it must be that the body loves everything that happens +to it ... it must be that..." + +David thought the spokesman was growing somewhat repetitious, and he +was glad when the voice stopped. He rose then and turned off the +light. "So you do strike bargains," he observed to the spokesman's +sleeping figure. In the dark he went to Mirelie's door and opened it +softly. + + +3 + +Mirelie lay in bed with her eyes wide open. She saw the bureau where +her ribbons hung, and the chair with her clothes folded away, and the +white posts of her bed; and she was terrified at the thought that she +was seeing these things in the dark, instead of being asleep. +Besides, there was a shadow swaying on the floor, that made her heart +stop beating whenever she looked at it. "Because," she said to +herself, "it might be David standing there." + +"Anna," she called, when she could stand it no longer, "I'm not +asleep." + +"Well, then, turn over on the other side." + +Mirelie turned as quietly as she could and waited. + +"Anna," she called again in a terrified whisper. "Why can't I sleep?" + +Anna's voice sounded angrily from the next room. "Sleep, Mirelie," +she said. "Your lover won't come tonight." + +After that Mirelie did not dare to speak again, and she lay in bed +thinking of the day when she would be married ... wondering why Anna +always laughed when she spoke of it. It was true, of course. Some +day she _would_ get married, everyone did. Even Anna had once been +married. She wore a wide gold ring on her left hand, and whenever +she was angry she made a rapping sound with it on the table. There +was also the picture of a little man with whiskers in her bedroom.... + +But in the midst of these thoughts Mirelie heard the sound of music +coming from the shop. "That's David playing the ocarina," she said +to herself, and she wanted to tell someone about it. She thought it +would be a great pleasure just to say aloud that David was playing; +and at last, though she was afraid that Anna would scold her, she +remarked softly, "That's David playing..." But Anna did not answer. + +How mournful it sounded and far away. Things must be very sad for +David to make him play that way, and she wished she were not afraid +of him, but could go to him and comfort him. But now the music +stopped and she heard David walking across the room to put the +ocarina away. Only it wasn't really hearing his footsteps. No, she +felt each step in her heart, as though her heart had changed its +rhythm and kept time with the swaying of David's body ... the same +thing that happens when you're walking down the street, and a friend +catches up with you, walking faster. Then your feet are confused for +a moment, but in the end they go faster too, step for step with your +friend. So it was every time Mirelie saw David walking toward her +... her heart had been marching its own way, but after its moment of +confusion it kept time with the swaying of David's body. + +And now Mirelie wondered whether anyone could tell that this +happened. If David knew, what would he think of her? And if Anna +knew, she would say that David was her sweetheart. Yes, if she could +look into Mirelie's heart and see how it changed step whenever David +came near her, she would surely say, "So it is David." Yet why +should David be her sweetheart, just because her heart changed step +that way? And as Mirelie brooded over this, she understood that +David was her sweetheart because she was ashamed of that feeling; and +because she could make it come whenever she pleased, even when David +was far away; and because it went through her whole body and out at +her finger-tips. Thinking of it now in bed, Mirelie felt her cheeks +grow red, and she wished she could run away and never see David again. + +Then Mirelie dozed off and had a dream of a boy and a girl she had +seen that day, jumping rope in front of the shop. They looked at +each other all the time as their bodies went up and down in the +circling frame of the rope ... and near them was an old man who was +stroking his cheeks with one hand, as if he was trying to brush away +invisible webs that kept gathering around him. Though she watched +him for a long time, never once did he stop stroking his cheeks. "He +can't stop it, I suppose," she said to herself, and that made her +afraid of the old man. But after a while Mirelie was aware that +something terrible was about to happen, and the old man also knew it, +and stroked his cheeks faster. Mirelie wanted to cry out ... to warn +the boy and the girl who were jumping rope together. But her voice +would not come and she could only stand there helplessly watching. +And at last she knew it had happened, by the way the old man's +fingers stretched themselves ... longer and longer, as long as +rulers, and laid themselves daintily and stiffly to his cheek; by the +way he smiled at the boy and the girl, and turning to Mirelie, said, +"They are married." Then she awoke, trembling and fearful, and saw +that the door to the shop was open, and David was standing there. +"Mirelie," he called softly, "Mirelie..." + +But in that moment she was no longer afraid, neither afraid of David +nor of the old man in her dream. She heard David laughing with a +strange intense gaiety as he came to her. She lifted her arms to him +and felt his face close to hers, and his eyelashes fluttering against +her cheek. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +1 + +By slow and laborious stages the symphony that Lewis Orling was +working on progressed. Though it was difficult work and baffled him +completely at times, he felt it shaping under his hand, he became +aware of its meaning. And this was the allegory of the first +movement... + +There were, first, four notes of a seeking nature ... four notes +informed with a profound question, that once stated was asked again, +in the endless repetition of the theme, in its intricate weaving +about. Yet what was this question and what was it seeking? Who was +it that asked? It was the question of an exile, of someone longing +for a place once known, yet not for any country in the world or for +anything that the world could give. It was the question of a soul +smitten with memory and knowing itself for lost ... the memory of its +childhood and the knowledge that it was alone and lost in a strange +world. For the world is strange to everyone, and everyone is exiled +in it ... because in childhood each soul has lived its own +civilization, one that was never before known on the earth ... +because each childhood that has ever been lived was a different +civilization ... and when the memory of it returns, the soul knows +itself for lost, the only survivor in a strange world. So the four +notes were seeking, turning despairingly on themselves, running here +and there with querulous hope ... repeating their question over and +over with terrible insistence. But now, instead of one clear +instrument asking the question each time, there came an interplay of +the instruments, and the question became louder and more insistent, +until it shouted with a frenzy of all the instruments. And now it +was no longer the voice of one soul, but whole nations seeking, +crying out ceaselessly on their past with one despairing voice. The +voice of an army trapped in the mountains ... they look up to the +distant sky and back on the way they have come, and know themselves +caught in a despairing pass... + +These were the things that Lewis heard in his music, that seemed to +speak from it. And in moments when he heard this, he heard also an +overtone ... the sound of multitudes clapping, a vast applause for +him because he had said these things. Then his breath would come +more quickly, he would feel his body tremble with eagerness to finish +it. And wonder filled him, that, sitting alone in his room and with +no other means than his pencil and the paper ruled with the staff, he +could make such things known. It did not yet occur to him that +because of the very simplicity of it, there might be some betrayal +here, some form of self-deception. + +Meanwhile he was hardly aware of Ruth. He did not seem to see her, +or rather he saw her only in a curious oblique way. When she was in +the same room with him, he was oblivious to her presence, as if all +the senses by which he might perceive her had suddenly gone blind. +And yet when he happened to think of her, or when he saw anything +that suggested her, his heart would begin to beat violently, and then +he himself did not know whether it beat with love or hatred. Though +often he questioned it, this oblique way of seeing her remained a +mystery to him ... a transference that kept its secret, too obscure +and cunning to reveal its meaning. Yet one day, catching sight of +her unexpectedly, he was surprised to see how well she was looking, +how well her advancing pregnancy agreed with her. He pretended now +that the impulse which had drawn him to her that night was only +curiosity to see her pregnant, a desire to show his power over her. +He tried to forget his moment of panic when she returned ill from her +flight, and the feeling of guilt in his heart, which he had sought to +expiate by the most immediate means. He did not think of their +child. The reality of her pregnancy did not exist for him, except as +a symbol of his power. + +And it was true that Ruth seemed happier than she had ever been +before. Often now as she went about her work she hummed to herself, +with lips tightly shut and thoughtful face. It was a weird and +toneless humming, yet there was about it an intense gaiety. In those +days too she was very much out-of-doors, lying on the sparse grass in +back of the house, feeling the sun penetrate her flesh, and the hard +earth beneath her body ... giving herself to the sun and wind, that +touched her without passion. Then her brain passed into a coma, its +placidity was almost a trance, in which the power to think, the power +to use words left her. But there was meanwhile the profound thinking +of her body, and she arose each time with a feeling of renewed +contentment. It was also part of her ritual each day, whenever Lewis +was out, to take the book of music that he worked on from his desk, +and to sit down near the window, holding it on her lap. She would +try to decipher the notes; with her finger she would count off the +intervals on the staff and then look up thoughtfully, as if singing +it in her mind. And one time when she was through with this, she +closed the book and tore it in half, then laid the two halves +together and tore them, and continued with it until the scraps in her +hands were too thick to be torn together, and she had to take them +separately. This she had done automatically, with no more sense of +what she did than if she had been reading an unimportant letter, +intending to tear it up at the end as a matter of course, and tearing +it with her mind already on other things. She disposed of the scraps +and sat down at the window to wait, feeling there would have to be +some explanation ... but feeling also impatient because so simple and +obvious a matter should require explanation ... as if she were +waiting for a child who was going to be unreasonable for the loss of +some casual toy. + +But Lewis did not return until very late, and it was not until the +next day, when she was clearing the dishes away from their supper +that he came into the kitchen and signalled to her mysteriously, and +she followed him back to his room. + +"Where is it..." he asked. + +She leaned in the doorway watching him. "Where is what?" There was +in her voice the emphasis of complete bewilderment. + +"Where is the book that was here?" Lewis repeated, his words sounding +slightly breathless, his hand sweeping through the pigeon-hole as if +the thing he looked for might materialize there. + +"I sent it away," she said slowly. + +"Where did you send it?" + +Ruth came in and sat down, and considered her answer for a long time. +"Why, I asked Levine where it could be sent ... that time he was +here. He told me someone to send it to. Because," she added, +lifting her eyes to him with their expression of innocent wonder, +"you wanted that, didn't you?" + +He looked at her and moved towards her with calm precision, the +threat of an attack in his deliberate approach. But near her he +stopped and put his hand to his forehead as if recalling himself. +Against the unnatural pallor of his face his hand showed dark and +grotesque. He tried to speak, but there was only an insane sucking +motion of his lips. "Why did you do that?" he asked at last. + +Ruth made a slight movement of impatience. "I've told you, haven't +I?" + +"Why did you do that?" he repeated querulously, and then, coming +close to her, he lowered his voice to a whisper and thrust his face +into hers. "You must get it back..." + +She leaned back to escape the nearness of his face, and looked up at +him from under her lowered-eyelids, half smiling. "Why should you +want it back?" + +"You must get it back," he repeated weakly. + +"But why ... Tell me why you want it back..." + +He did not answer, and suddenly, with unexpected agility, she slipped +from him and went to the door. Lewis made as if to call to her, but +instead there was only that insane sucking motion of his lips. The +words were wrung from him, a strident harshness in his voice. +"Because it's no good..." + +She turned then, smiling to him from the doorway. "Why, then, so +much the better," she said with cheerful finality. But Lewis +followed her and resumed his questioning ... his voice weak and +petulant now, his face twisted into an abstracted frown. + +"To whom did you send it?" + +"I forget ... I forget..." + +"You must get it back..." + +"I can't, I tell you ... not yet." She gathered up the table-cloth +with angry swiftness, and shook it out on the floor. "Because I tore +it up," she added, in a voice deliberately casual. Lewis stared at +the crumbs that scattered from the cloth, and waited until they +ceased rolling and lay still in a haphazard pattern on the floor +before he spoke again. "You see," he said patiently, watching her +fold the cloth, "they will laugh at me." + +It struck her that there was something stupid in the way he repeated +this, and she motioned angrily with her arm to be free of him. But +he caught hold of her elbow and she had to stand there, a little in +front of him, holding the table-cloth ceremonially in her hand, and +feeling his words breathed on her cheek. A vivid flash of their +position came before her, and she burst out laughing. The sound +seemed to awaken Lewis from his trance, and he looked at her ... his +expression changing slowly from its abstracted frown to one of grave +wonder. + +* * * * * * * + +Lewis went back to his room. In the short transit between the +kitchen and his room he had a strange duality of vision, seeing +himself walking through the narrow hallway, entering the room and +going to the window ... seeing an aura of his body moving with him in +whatever he did, as when the finger is pressed to the eyeball, and +each thing appears with double reflection. Standing at the window, +he saw that it was raining, and he noted that everything was +glistening wet ... the boards in the fence, and the trees and every +leaf of the trees. And this fact, simple and irrefutable, that when +it rained nothing that was exposed could escape from becoming wet, +seemed to be revealed to him for the first time. He saw the drops of +water on the pane, how each drop was suspended on a fine thread of +rain, and he saw that some of the drops rolled all the way down, and +others stopped midway and others were arrested near the top. For a +long time he studied this, trying to discover some law that +determined it; but wearying of this he went back to the desk and put +his hand once more into the pigeon-hole, sweeping it with his fingers +as if he was not certain that it was empty... + +Meanwhile he was conscious of a feeling of wonder. He was waiting +for something ... he was waiting for something to snap within him. +And yet it seemed as if this first moment of calm was not to end +after all ... it was stretching itself infinitely, and he was +watching it, a little breathless and surprised, as if it was a +conjuror's trick. Or was this calm, he asked himself, the end of the +whirling, that moment he had foreseen when the motion of his mind +would slacken ... and all things that had been held in place by the +whirling fly apart? But how, then, if this had happened, could he +reason about it ... how could he be aware of it? Or was there +something else here ... something more terrible than madness that had +come to him? Was there a profound confession in his calm ... an +admission that he had failed in his work ... and was this his relief +at its being destroyed? But though he felt these questions vaguely, +he did not yet dare the answers. Best not to be sitting alone now +and thinking ... best to bestir himself, he said, to find some +diversion that would tide him over this bewildering moment... + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +1 + +The room that Lewis entered was crowded and noisy. Everything seemed +to give off sound ... the smoke floating densely overhead, the men's +glistening shirt fronts, like so many instruments for percussion. +Standing in the doorway, too bewildered by the lights to see clearly, +Lewis tried at first to pick out a familiar voice. Someone was +rapping on the piano and shouting: "Ladies and gentlemen, a duet ... +a duet, ladies and gentlemen," and Lewis tried to follow the rest of +it for a while, holding to a special thread in the crazy pattern of +noise. Soon that was too much effort. He shut his eyes and listened +to the voices. They fused at some far-off point into one chord, and +he could hear that chord always on the verge of dissolving; yet +endlessly dragging on, swelling and diminishing endlessly--as if +someone who had fallen asleep were directing it, with slow senseless +motions of the baton. He had almost gone to sleep listening to it, +when the sound of feet scuffling nearby roused him. He opened his +eyes and saw Poldy struggling to free himself from his friends. His +face was wet with perspiration, he kept flapping his elbows backward +and turning from one to the other, pleading with them in the +high-pitched hysterical voice of a child who is ready to cry. +"Listen, Jel, I just want to ask him. What harm can it be if I ask +him? Jel, will it hurt you if I ask him?" + +"But Poldy! That's the eighth person you'll be asking tonight." + +Poldy looked at him in alarm. "I don't remember," he muttered. He +stopped struggling and stood quietly between them, frowning at the +floor. After a while Jel nodded to his friend, and they released +him. "Go on, then," Jel said and pushed him gently forward. "Ask." + +Poldy walked unsteadily. At one time he almost toppled forward. He +blushed then and looked back quickly at his friends. When he was +close to Lewis he put his arm on his shoulder, and peered into his +face with troubled eyes. + +"What time is it, Lewis?" he whispered. + +"Ten minutes to nine, I think." + +Poldy nodded and looked off into the distance, wrapped in profound +calculations. At length he roused himself and turned to Lewis. +"Thank you ... thank you..." he said briskly, and walked away. Lewis +wanted to speak to him further, but Poldy was gone too quickly. He +turned inquiringly to Poldy's friend. + +"Oh, don't mind him," Jel said cheerfully. "He's just a little +upset. Thinks he's made a great discovery. He says it takes longer +for an hour to pass than it used to. Claims he's the only one who +notices it, but he says soon everyone will feel it. Now _you_ +haven't noticed it, have you?" Jel looked suspiciously at Lewis. +"No, of course not..." he laughed nervously. "Poldy's so clever, you +know, I thought there might be something in it. But say ... suppose +it did take longer for an hour to pass ... can't see how it would, +but suppose it did ... it wouldn't matter anyway, now would it?" + +"Why wouldn't it matter?" + +"Oh, we could get all the clocks to working faster ... or slower. +Say, which is it? Would they have to go faster or slower? Oh, hell! +It's an awfully mixed up business, and poor Poldy thinks he's got it +all figured out. Just look at him..." + +Poldy was standing alone in the center of the room. He had opened +his coat and hooked his right thumb into his vest pocket. In his +left hand he held a watch, and stared at it with a harassed +expression. And as Lewis watched, the feeling came over him that all +the people in the room were behaving with strange detachment ... each +one, like Poldy staring at the watch, wrapped in a special insanity +of talking or laughing or walking about or staring ... and when they +seemed to be aware of each other it was only incidental to their +madness. And now he heard an ominous undercurrent of speed in the +voices, a quickening up to a hysterical tempo. "Ladies and +gentlemen, a duet..." The man at the piano rapped away with greater +frenzy, his voice climbed to a high whining note. "A duet, ladies +and gentlemen, listen to the duet." He stopped and snatched a large +napkin from the table, fixed it on his head like a nurse's peaked +cap, and continued shouting. Nobody listened, and the man's face +grew red, he glared angrily at everyone near him. In one corner of +the room Lustbader was performing tricks with a handkerchief cocked +over his fist. Somebody tried to snatch the handkerchief away, and +others lifted the tails of his coat to see whether he had anything +hidden there. The magician's face contorted with rage. He stuffed +the handkerchief into his pocket and turned on the offenders. "So! +You don't believe me!" he shouted. "Look! I will undress before +you." He took off his coat and collar, and was about to undo his +belt, when one of the men snatched a scarf from the piano, and +wrapped it over Lustbader's shoulders, and led him away, his face +simpering with elaborate modesty. At the piano two musicians were +improvising a duet. They banged out a series of wild arpeggios, +paused and leaned toward each other with maudlin ecstasy, then fell +furiously on the keys again. Now and then they embraced, and with +wracking sobs congratulated each other on the state of harmony +existing between them. One of them had a round flat face with +spectacles attached, and while he played his face seemed to float +over the music, buoyed up by its two circles of glass. Near-by was a +group of artists arguing excitedly and drawing imaginary pictures in +the air. A fat man stood by, his hands on his hips, looking +earnestly at that portion of the air which they had chosen as their +canvas, as if the pictures all remained there in one crazy design. +But one of the painters, waving his arm too freely, upset the +victrola that was painfully and asthmatically unwinding a symphony on +the edge of the piano. It fell to the floor and the record broke. +The red-faced man with the napkin on his head stooped and picked up a +small segment of the symphony, looked at it curiously and then +slipped it into his pocket. From time to time as he rapped on the +piano he took the piece out and consulted it, as if it was his watch. +But nobody noticed this either. + +But now Lewis distinguished Bannerman's voice cutting its way through +the others with its peculiar nasal resonance. "You can't escape..." +it was saying angrily, "you can't escape." He went in the direction +of the voice, and saw that Bannerman, slightly drunk and balancing +himself perilously on a sofa, was holding forth to a large audience. +The orator kept glancing about incessantly while he spoke, trying to +catch the eye of everyone in his audience, so that his features ... +small and finely chiseled, and mounted on a liberal map of flesh ... +looked more like a traveling exhibition of a face, than an actual +part of him. There was also a faint air of sniffing about +Bannerman's face ... it may have been the way he kept glancing about, +or perhaps the peculiar modeling of his nostrils that was more +apparent as he stood on the sofa elevated above the others ... the +nostrils not sufficiently raised from the upper lip, slanting back +too precipitously. Lewis hovered on the outskirts of the group, +trying to listen. There were others there whom he knew ... Clandon, +who had the habit of listening to every argument with an intent and +ghoulish expression, until the moment when he could snap up an +opinion and bottle it and label it. And Levine was there, his head +bent forward in an attitude of listening, unconscious that Lewis was +present and watching him. + +"No, there's no escape," Bannerman repeated, raising his voice and +looking around self-consciously. "Go through all the frenzies of +experiment that you please, ladies and gentlemen. I tell you, you +won't escape the female nude. Haven't I seen them ... the bunch of +mad artists jumping through all the isms, like a pack of clowns going +through the hoops. And what was the end? The damned bitch just +stood around, waiting until they could stop and look at her." + +"Cubism! Cubism!" he cried, after a moment's pause. "Even that +can't shake her. Ever notice how the cubist canvases break out into +violins and vases? Regular eruptions of them. And why? Because a +violin is one of the instruments that happens to approximate the +female figure. It has the hips..." he glared around, waiting for the +laughter to subside. "And a vase ... well, look!" He took pencil +and paper from his pocket, and holding it up for all to see, sketched +a typical cubistic design on it. This he rapidly converted into a +group of plump nudes languidly conversing. + +"There you are! There you are!" he shouted, flourishing the drawing. +"Shut one eye and you have what they call the breaking up of objects +into planes. Shut the other, and you see what's really itching them. +An evasion ... pure and simple. Everything new in art is an evasion +... trying to evade the nude. But take my word for it," he bent down +and tapped Levine solemnly on the chest ... "take my word for it, +Levine, it won't work." + +Levine removed the finger gingerly. "A rather old obsession ... the +female figure," he said drily. + +"Oh, Lord..." someone whispered ecstatically, "did you see Lustbader +shutting one eye and then the other?" + +"And once an artist has realized _that_," Bannerman finished grandly, +"then everything else is superfluous." + +"Clothes..." they suggested. + +"Why, of course," the speaker continued with belligerent agreement. +"Now clothes!" he said impressively, and then stopped and began to +search through his pockets with an expression of great anxiety. +Having brought forth several objects that seemed to surprise him by +their presence in his pockets, he at length extracted four golden +thumb tacks. These he put into his mouth, withdrawing them as they +were needed to tack his paper on the wall. "Now clothes," he +resumed, when the drawing was successfully hung, "are a big hoax. +Started by the pretty women, because they couldn't compete with the +ugly ones in the nude." + +"Really, now!" the tall girl who was reclining on the couch turned +and looked up at him with mock surprise. "Do you know," she said, +addressing the audience, "Banney's an awful strain on me..." + +"Ladies and gentlemen, listen to the duet!..." the voice rose in a +frenzy of appeal. + +"Fancy having to be jealous of the ugly women," the girl continued in +an indistinct sleepy voice. "There are so many more of them." Her +hair was too closely cropped, only a little yellow crest of it rising +unexpectedly from the top of her head; and her face was too +prognathic, shaped as if she might begin whistling any moment. +Bannerman looked down at her thoughtfully, and then turned his mildly +glaring eye once more on his audience. "I'll take an ugly woman for +my model any day," he challenged. "Beauty doesn't belong ... makes +the body insipid." + +"But say, Bannerman," a curly-headed fellow on the outskirts of the +group spoke in a high excited voice. "What the devil has all this +got to do with saving the world? That's what we're after, you know." + +"Everything, Twinem, everything," Clandon assured him. "Didn't you +hear? 'We can't save the world until we understand the naked--which, +of course, means female--body.' Now stand by, everyone, and +Bannerman will show us how to do it." + +The numbers around Bannerman increased, and others in the room +glanced curiously in his direction. Lustbader, who had seated +himself at the chess board rose, and scouted around for a while to +see what was happening. "Oh, it's nothing," he reported disgustedly +to his partner. "Bannerman's helping them to understand the naked +body or something like that." + +"Drunk, probably..." + +"Go on, Bannerman, continue," Clandon urged. But as soon as the +lecture began again he seemed to cease listening, waiting for the +moment when with practiced sleight-of-hand he could pounce on an +argument and label it. Levine only locked his hands in back and +smiled to himself. Uttering a prodigious "Now!" and clearing his +throat professionally, Bannerman began once more. But happening at +the same moment to come too near the edge of the sofa, he pitched +forward. His body stiffened as they caught him, and he was rotated +up again into place with the rigidity of a statue. "Now the first +thing to remember," he continued, looking down at them and frowning +severely, "is that you fellows know nothing about it ... you fellows +with your prurient snooping around museums and peeking into the +studios. You can't understand the human body, I say, until you're +steeped in nudity ... steeped in it, mind you. And not the picayune +nudity you see in the pictures. You have to see collective nakedness +... many women sitting around together unconscious of their bodies, +so that the poses they take are ancient and instinctive..." + +"Ancient and instinctive ... that's pretty good." + +"Yes," Bannerman retorted, "flesh takes its own poses, like stone and +wood." + +"Well, continue, anyway." + +"Yes, go on, Bannerman." + +"Stone and wood..." Bannerman repeated, and then stopped with a look +of extreme alarm. "Levine!" he bent down to him and lowered his +voice to a whisper. "Where were we at? No ... no ... never mind. I +remember now." He lapsed into a contemplation of space, and then +finished sententiously. "Then, and only then, ladies and gentlemen, +do you feel the reality of nakedness, so much so, in fact, that +nakedness no longer exists for you!" + +"Hm ... the reality of nakedness. I like that." + +"Well, is _that_ all?" + +"Ladies and gentlemen, listen to the duet." + +"How was it? How was it?" Lustbader called, and receiving no answer +he came trotting from his chess game and looked excitedly from one to +the other. Seeing that the lecture was in danger of ending he +started to applaud for more, a presumption which Bannerman quickly +ended by an imperious motion of his hand. "And then ... then," he +began fluently, and once more found himself looking around +confusedly. "Say, where were we at, Levine?" But here the tall girl +on the sofa rose with a look of disgust, and Bannerman danced three +involuntary steps. "Levine," he said pitifully, "hold my hand. And +then, ladies and gentlemen, you feel a power of fertility ... the +same as you feel in the woods on a damp day..." + +"I do _not_," Clandon said sternly. + +Bannerman looked at him reproachfully, and continued with added +dignity. "But you never think of stamens and pistils when you're +walking in the woods, do you? Because, of course, we know there is +plant intercourse. Now plant intercourse," he mused ... "queer +thing. And in the same manner, so to speak, you feel that men have +nothing to do with this fertility. It's a different thing, older +than sex ... and then..." + +But his audience was growing restive, and Clandon leaped up on the +sofa to prevent a dispersal. "One minute, please," he signalled. +"We're at the power of fertility now. Has everyone got that? Very +well, then, continue." + +"Oh, there's nothing to continue," Bannerman finished sulkily. "They +don't want to listen, anyway. But my last point was that then you +understand the livingness of flesh, and then you can't kill anything, +because..." + +"Ah! Just as I thought," Clandon interrupted triumphantly. "It all +comes down to the sanctity of human life. Just as I thought." + +"Say, Bannerman, that's jolly." It was the curly-headed young man +called Twinem. "You know, it's always fascinated me, this idea of +saving the world, because there are so many ways of doing it. No end +to them, really. This one's great. Naked women hanging around all +the time, so that we feel the what-do-you-call-it? ... sanctity of +human life. Awfully ingenious, don't you think?" + +Laughter greeted his outburst, and Bannerman stepped down with a +final and completely-balanced dignity. + +"Well ... amuse yourselves," he muttered. + +"Bannerman's right! Absolutely!" It was Lustbader calling from the +chess table, as he set up the pieces with rapid plump fingers. +"Haven't I thought of it myself?" He gave the lecturer a consoling +wink. "Haven't I thought of it though!" + +He rose and planted himself in the center of the room, his face +flushed and ecstatic. "All the women ... all the women," he began. +"No ... that won't do. Watch me. _I'll_ make a beginning." He made +a rapid survey of the room, then rubbed his Punchinello nose +meditatively. Finally he turned and stared at one corner, at Marah +who was half-reclining in a large chair, and listlessly watching the +proceedings. He advanced to her on tiptoes, pedalling the air with +his fingers. And this stealthy advance caused a sudden silence in +the room, everybody turned to watch it. Marah did not move, but +observed him with wide and curious eyes, her whole attitude +suggesting infinite curiosity for his touch. He came close to her +and tried to lift his hands to her face, but unable to bring himself +to it, he wheeled himself round in a temper. "Can't we do without +that music?" he snapped, turning his red face to the musicians. The +music stopped abruptly, and for the moment there was a complete hush, +during which Lustbader walked unsteadily back to the chess table, and +began to set up the pieces again. Levine, who had been watching +Marah intently, turned away with a faint suggestion of contempt in +the shrug of his shoulders. + +"Bannerman," he said loudly, "that confirms my theory." + +"Really ... how?" Bannerman's round face flushed with pleasure. + +"Every human being ... every human being," Levine began emphatically. + +"Yes, yes, go on..." + +"Has a favorite form of intoxication. Let me congratulate you on the +extremely original form of yours." + +"I don't understand." + +"Well, you don't have to. The trouble with you, Bannerman, is that +you're such a confounded sensualist. And you think everyone can +remain on that high plane of sensuality on which you generally exist. +But that's asking a little too much. The average person isn't equal +to it. Besides, that's just where the big mistake lies ... in this +idea of the sanctity of life. Civilization is a nightmare of safety +because of it." + +"Oh, come, Levine, don't be fantastic again." + +Levine looked at Clandon with innocent eyes. He shook the invisible +drop of water from his thumb and forefinger before speaking. +"Anthropology," he continued, "teaches us that a condition of such +abnormal safety as we suffer from now, never before existed. We +know, for instance, that primitive man had innumerable chances for +calamity ... at least while geology was a going concern. Mountains +and rivers, glaciers and even continents, cavorting around like +kittens. And that's what we need nowadays, that's what we miss ... +the sense of extreme terror, which is really the most profound and +religious of human emotions. When primitive man had to pick up his +household goods and keep running, always just a few strides ahead of +the glaciers, looking back at the green wall of ice, and feeling the +chill on his--" + +Clandon burst into uproarious laughter. "Lord! What a tableau!" +Hearing it, Lustbader came to the surface again from the depths of +his chess game. "Where ... where's the tableau?" he inquired eagerly. + +"Oh, very well, then, he didn't run in front of the glacier. It is, +as you say, only a tableau. However," Levine continued more +seriously, "we may safely posit a more liberal distribution of +catastrophe in primitive times, and it is, as I said, the whole +trouble. Civilization is a nightmare of safety." + +"Say, Levine, how about the Day of Judgment?" Twinem asked earnestly. +"That'll be an awful time, won't it?" + +"The Day of Judgment," Levine repeated thoughtfully. "No, too far +off. Besides, only an article of faith. Not sound geology." + +Twinem looked crestfallen. "I never hit it right," he said. + +"No, come to think of it, Twinem, there is something to that. We may +safely say that the Day of Judgment supplied a great deal of the +necessary emotion of fear in the Middle Ages. Yes, come to think of +it, it was very efficient in satisfying that nostalgia for terror, as +we might call it. Only nowadays we're too practical for it, we know +too much. We can't, I'm afraid, get much of a thrill from brooding +over the Day of Judgment." + +"Lack the imagination, don't we..." + +"Right, Twinem." + +"Need something active ... real. War, I should say." + +"Twinem, you're a genius." At this verdict, Jel embraced his friend +and they marched fraternally towards the refreshments. Poldy tried +to follow them, but something stopped him on the way. And now, for +the first time, it seemed that a quality of silence came into the +voices, they slackened their rhythm. Two girls were conversing +across the room by means of signals, and the quick weaving of their +fingers seemed to make an area of silence around them. Lustbader +devoted himself to his game, and his spongy little hand suspended +over the board looked like a mute held there to dull the vibrations +in the air. But this lasted for only a little while. Without +warning Lustbader jumped up from his chair, upsetting the board with +his violence. + +"I have it ... I have it!" he shouted. He picked up a queen that had +fallen to the floor, blew a speck of dirt from it, and began to +polish it with his sleeve. "Any war that begins can be ended in +fifteen days ... fifteen days at the most. Everybody's been looking +for a way to do it, but nobody ever thought of this." + +"Well?" + +"All the soldiers ... _all_ the soldiers," he said impressively, +"should be made to strangle each other to death." + +"And then what...?" Clandon asked. + +"Why in fifteen days, fifteen at the most," he sputtered, "it would +be over. They can't strangle each other forever, can they? They'd +get tired. Killing should be work, hard work." + +Nobody seemed impressed, and somewhat forlornly Lustbader turned +away. But seeing Poldy standing near him, he took him aside and +continued to develop his idea more confidentially. "Why, where I was +in the country this summer," he said rapidly, "there were three pigs, +and the farmer's boy used to say: 'You'll never _kill_ that one ... +she's too hard to kill.' And that's how it is. Now in fifteen +days..." + +Poldy had been following the motions of Lustbader's hands as if they +were new and fascinating toys. As soon as it was over he began to +cough, putting his hands to his mouth and looking around stealthily. +It had started as a forced artificial cough, but in a few seconds his +face was red, tears streamed from his eyes and his throat kept +trembling convulsively each time he tried to stop. The others stood +by helplessly, while Poldy backed into a chair, always holding his +hands to his mouth with the dainty gesture of a bunny. + +"Stop it!" Levine commanded. He caught Poldy's wrists, and drew his +hands away from his mouth. The coughing stopped, and while they were +still standing around Poldy, awkward and self-conscious, they were +startled by the noise of a deafening explosion. It began with a +tearing sound, as of bricks bursting apart, and ended in a series of +long detonations. It seemed to come from the heart of the city, and +the room trembled with the impact of it. Transfixed with terror, +they stood and glanced at each other, and nobody dared to move until +it was over. Then with a concerted movement, they rushed to the +windows and looked out. In subdued voices at first, but later +growing more secure and controversial, they gave their conjectures. +There were two theories ... one, that it was only the ordinary +dynamiting in the course of erecting a building; and the other that +one of the skyscrapers had collapsed. + +"But steel..." someone said. "Steel buildings don't collapse." + +"Ah ... how do you know? They haven't been up long enough for anyone +to know." + +They were silent for a while, considering this and noting the +paleness still on their faces. + +"The framework of steel buildings," a low and thoughtful voice was +heard to observe, "is said by some authorities to be undergoing a +hidden but certain process of rotting away." + +"That," Clandon said sententiously, "seems to me stupid." + +"How..." + +"Why, it just seems inconceivably stupid to me that we should be +putting up buildings that were doomed." + +"Why, yes," Twinem said eagerly, "we can't imagine our engineers +doing anything so stupid." + +"Or a whole civilization, for that matter," somebody added. "Why, +our whole civilization is founded on steel, and one can't imagine our +being wrong about it." + +"On the contrary," Levine cut in, commanding silence by the +seriousness of his voice, "it seems to me that every civilization +must have in it the seeds of its own dissolution. It seems to me +that at the heart of every civilization there must be some colossal +stupidity. It must be there, or there would be no guarantee that the +civilization was to end." + +"And is that important?" + +"For it to end? Yes." + +"Why ... can you tell us why, perhaps?" Clandon said angrily. + +Levine shrugged his shoulders and turned away from him. "Study the +history of Greece or Rome, and it will prove what obvious stupidities +these civilizations harbored within themselves. Perhaps this faith +of ours in the eternity of steel, this frantic erecting of buildings +that are rotting away within, is the stupidity that we are furnishing +for the future to marvel at." + +"That is," Clandon corrected, "_if_ they are rotting away." + +Levine did not answer, and they were silent, lingering uncertainly +near the window or looking uneasily into the street. In this silence +they heard a voice speaking for the first time that evening, coming +in meditatively though somewhat late, like a clock that strikes +pompously after the hour. + +"Bannerman's right now..." the voice said. "I know what he means." +The words were slightly muffled by the process of mastication. They +looked into the other room, and saw a short gray-headed man standing +alone at the table, plying the sandwiches and drinks. It had been a +systematic and lengthy procedure, to judge by the extensive ruins of +food around him, and not even the sound of the explosion had +interrupted it. The speaker was eating now with a profound +expression, his round gray eyes always looking at the next object to +be attacked, thus keeping up an uninterrupted campaign. + +"Sintz, my child, eating again?" Clandon wagged his finger playfully. +He was usually called Sintz because nobody could remember his real +name, except that it was very long and contained that syllable +somewhere; and "my child" was added because his rosy little mouth and +clear gray eyes made him look like a little boy burgeoning out into +his first rotundity. + +"Yes, Bannerman's right," Sintz repeated, and wiped away the crumbs +that trickled down his chin. "I know what he means. Now when I was +a boy we were starving most of the time. But there were some crusts +of bread so old and so moused-at that we had to throw them away. And +I remember that every time I threw one of those old crusts away it +hurt me ... here..." he applied his wine-glass to his heart. "I +couldn't kill anything, either. No, not even to wipe a roach off the +wall, though God knows we had enough of them. Now why have I lost +that feeling? Often I ask myself: how did it happen?" + +He stopped and looked around, like a confused little boy who realizes +that an ominous silence has fallen on his elders. Clandon winked to +the others and stepped over to the table. + +"Couldn't throw a crust of bread away, you say..." + +Sintz nodded. + +"Well, Sintz my child, what do you call that?" He pointed severely +to the remains of food. + +"Yes, what?" Sintz repeated cordially, and looked at the table. + +"Phew! Look how much you've eaten. You contemptible +little--breadbox!" Clandon lunged forward as if to tickle his +stomach, but Sintz caught his arm and held on to it tightly. + +"Yes, what do you call that? Look ... just look at that ... A fine +exhibition ... to eat like a garbage can. I eat and eat. Whenever I +see food, I eat. But that's not the worst of it. If it were only +that I wouldn't be so worried. You don't know what I'm capable of." +He whipped himself round to the others. "Yes, you don't know what +I'm capable of," he continued solemnly. "My mother had a little +white dog once called Pierrot. And one day she comes into my room +and folds her hands and says, 'Pierrot is dead.' Do you know what I +did? I burst out laughing. She just sat there and looked at me. +Now was it right to laugh?" he asked sadly. + +A solitary chuckle exploded from Clandon, and Sintz fixed him with a +long puzzled stare. "Well, I can see why you laugh," he said slowly. +"You don't know what I used to be. That's the whole trouble." + +He was silent, munching his sandwich and regarding them thoughtfully. +But in the midst of it he darted towards Clandon, caught at his +lapel, and lifted his face to him imploringly. "Listen, Clandon, +I'll prove it to you. Only tell me what you want me to do, set me +any task and I'll do it here before all these people. Anything you +say, to show you what I'm capable of..." + +Clandon screwed up his eyes and tightened his lips, tasting +beforehand the special flavor of the cruelty he would choose. After +long thought he shook himself loose from Sintz with an angry gesture. +"Hang it all, Sintz," he said irritably, "I can't think of a thing. +I believe you all right, if that's what you want. But damned if I +can think of any way of being specially cruel." + +"Look here, Sintz..." it was Twinem, speaking with paternal +good-nature. "I think we could arrange it. I've been awfully +curious ever since I can remember to know how it feels to have drops +of water falling on your forehead at long intervals. Heard about it +once in a book when I was little, as a pet form of torture somewheres +in the East ... China, I guess. And then I got a few boys to try it +on me, only they didn't have the patience to do more than a few +drops, and did them too quick. I even put my head under the faucet, +once when it was dripping a little, to see how long I could stand it. +But the water stopped altogether, and I couldn't regulate it again. +Now, if you're willing..." + +Sintz regarded him fearfully, like a child that is a little +suspicious of the new game. + +"Would you, now? That's right. Clandon, old boy, dive into the +medicine chest and get an eyedropper or ear syringe or some suitable +instrument." + +Twinem placed a chair in the center of the room, tucked a large +napkin under his chin, sat down and shut his eyes. The others +gathered round as if they were about to witness an operation. But +Clandon signalled them away and took charge of it. He looked at +Sintz critically, and announced, "He needs gloves." Someone +furnished a pair of gloves that were too big for him and drooped at +the finger-ends, giving an appearance as if all his fingers had been +broken at the tips. Sintz looked at his hands in alarm. He +flourished them about and when he saw that this caused everyone to +laugh he gave a few extra flourishes, folded his short arms in front +of him, and looked at Clandon defiantly. "He needs a mask," Clandon +said. Lustbader produced his handkerchief, and tied it tightly over +Sintz's nose and mouth. + +"You have to turn him around and see which way he faces when he's +through." + +"He ought to have an apron." + +"Right. We'll turn him." + +"Why?" Sintz's voice was muffled and alarmed behind the handkerchief. + +"Never mind why," Clandon answered. "It's always done." He raised +Sintz's gloved hands in an attitude of astonishment and whirled him +around. But in the midst of his gyration Sintz caught at Clandon's +arm, and they almost fell together with the effort to steady +themselves. "Sure this isn't a trick on me?" Sintz asked in a +terrified whisper. The handkerchief began to vibrate over his mouth +as if a tiny white muscle were set in motion there. "Take it off, +Clandon," he pleaded. "I can't breathe." + +Again Clandon put his head on one side and regarded him critically. +"Twinem, I've an idea," he announced solemnly. "The water must be +hot." + +"Oh, I say, Clandon, that's ridiculous." Twinem raised his head and +opened his eyes. "You're not going to heat the water specially, are +you?" + +"Why not?" + +"Because it's ridiculous ... heating water specially..." + +"Why is it ridiculous?" + +Twinem removed the napkin and rose angrily. "It's absurd, that's +all. Besides, I never heard that the water was hot." + +"That may be," Levine said. "But then consider, Twinem. A man +devoted his whole lifetime to being killed, in those times. But no +one would think of wasting time that way nowadays. We've just got to +hurry it a little." + +"Oh, all right then, go ahead. Only it's carrying things a little +too far." He sat down sullenly and put his head back, whistling up +at the ceiling until they were ready. + +Sintz took the eye-dropper with trembling hands. He brushed the +curls back from Twinem's white forehead and stared at it, as if it +had turned into a strange object. + +"How can I do it when his eyes quiver that way?" he burst out at +length. "Make him stop moving his eyes that way." + +"Now, Sintz, I'll count three..." + +The little white muscle over Sintz's mouth began to vibrate +frantically. He flashed an imploring look at Clandon, poised the +eye-dropper over Twinem's forehead, and ended by dusting it lightly +with the loose finger-tips of his left hand. + +"One." Clandon scored it off by raising his forefinger. + +"It makes me nervous ... his eyes quivering that way." + +"Two." + +"I'll do it, the minute he stops screwing up his eyes that way." + +Clandon wagged two fingers in the air, and was about to declaim the +last number, when Sintz turned to him. "Do you know what..." he said +quietly, as if it had just occurred to him. "I can't do it. I can't +do it ... that's all." He put the eye-dropper away and took off the +handkerchief and gloves. His forehead was wet with perspiration, and +he fumbled nervously for his handkerchief. "Lustbader, can I use +yours?" he asked humbly. + +"It's a damned messy business," Twinem announced, sitting up with a +disgusted grimace. There was water trickling down from his forehead +and he wiped it hastily with the back of his hand. "Takes too long +anyway. Thank God, we kill people much quicker." + +"We do ... we do!" Lustbader hugged himself gleefully. "I said that +was the trouble. Now in fifteen days ... fifteen days at the most, +if everything is done by strangling. That's the only condition I +make ... all killing to be done by strangling. Oh Lord, how simple." +He picked up the chess board and waltzed around with it, while the +pianist accompanied him with a furious scherzo. "Stop it!" Lustbader +commanded breathlessly from the midst of his whirling. "How can I +keep up with that?" + +But here the man who had been rapping on the piano raised his voice +in a final effort. "Ladies and gentlemen, a quartet. Clear the +floor for the quartet." + +* * * * * * * + +The players were old and German-looking. They played with curious +indifference, looking as if they were half asleep over their +instruments. Only the second violinist looked up alertly each time +that a new instrument came in. He had a sharp archaic profile, the +full eye almost completely visible in profile; and the sculptured +down-turning mouth that gave a slight sourness to his expression. +Whenever one of the instruments was due to make its entrance he would +look at the player watchfully, almost suspiciously, until the new +motif was merged with the others. While the others plied their +strings in enchanted detachment, he seemed to have a secret joy in +the playing from his foreknowledge of the moves, from being part of +the intricate mechanism of the music. + +For the first time since he had entered the room Lewis was able to +look around him and to take stock of his confused impressions. He +realized that he had been avoiding Poldy, that there was something +offensive to him in the green pallor of Poldy's face, and that he +felt in some way degraded by Poldy's presence. He remembered too +that several times in the course of the evening Levine had fixed his +eyes on him with grave thoughtfulness. Now he was conscious of a +painful buzzing in his head, and though he felt unnaturally hot, his +forehead was damp and cold when he touched it. He tried to listen to +the music, but he was too weary to follow it as melody and rhythm. +He was only vaguely aware of its turnings, of the weaving in and out +of musical patterns ... he had the feeling of watching dancers from a +great distance, seeing faintly the joining and parting in a long and +tireless dance. But there were times when he seemed not to hear at +all, when he found himself staring at the players until they took on +the appearance of a quaint instrument working with a symmetry of arms. + +But now, on the high note of its long obbligato, the cello came to an +abrupt stop, and the rest of the music spilled over suddenly into +silence, little odds and ends of sound tumbling after it. + +"What's the trouble?" the man at the piano asked impatiently. "You +were doing fine." + +"No, I can't play with him any more," the cellist began, rising +wrathfully and pointing his bow at the second violinist. + +The second violinist looked at him in consternation. "Why, what have +I done? Roth, you're crazy." + +"You look at me as though you were afraid I didn't know it was my +turn. It's humiliating." + +"I ... _I_ look at you..." + +The cellist loosened his bow and shook the hairs violently. "No, I +won't worry you any more," he said bitterly. "Get some one you can +trust." He picked up his instrument and stalked out of the room. + +"Isn't that too bad," the man at the piano said sadly. "I thought +they were doing so nicely." + +But now there was a commotion at the door, and they saw Poldy trying +to get out, Jel struggling with him and trying to save his cigarette +at the same time. At last he had Poldy pinned to the wall. With his +free hand he signalled for help. + +"Damned fool!" he said. "Now he wants to run down on the street. He +says the first person he meets..." + +Poldy nodded. "Yes, the first person I meet," he repeated solemnly. + +"What about it ... what about it?" Levine put his hands on Poldy's +shoulders and spoke with hypnotic rapidity. + +"The first person he meets will save him, he says." + +"Can I go?" Poldy looked at Levine, his lips trembling. + +"Yes, go," Levine said gently. + +"Where's my hat, Jel?" + +"_I_ don't know ... How should I know where you put it?" + +"I need my hat." + +"Well, where is it?" + +Poldy turned to Levine. "I need my hat," he whispered. + +They found one that was too small for him, that perched absurdly on +his head. Lustbader burst out laughing. "O God ... O God, that's +clever," he gasped. "The first person he meets--will be a woman." + +They heard the door close and a silence fell on them. Some stood +awkwardly at the door, others ran to the window. + +"Well, what do you see?" Levine snapped. + +"Wait ... wait," Lustbader called gleefully. "I made a bet with Jel +that the first person he meets will be a woman. Sure enough ... sure +enough! He's passing up the men. God! but that was clever." + +"Where's he going?" + +"Heading for the park, now." + +"No, he's standing still." + +"He'll be run over." + +"Going to pieces that way ... I always thought Poldy had more--" Jel +stopped with a low horrified whistle. "Well, if that wasn't a close +one!" + +"Look! Look!" Lustbader flung his arms out ecstatically. "He's +going up to a woman ... he's talking to her. Hell! But that was +clever. 'The first person I meet...' What a game!" + +"That was my hat," someone said thoughtfully. + +"No, she's walking away. Wouldn't have him. Now what is he waiting +for." + +"A peculiarly Biblical obsession," Levine observed drily. "To take +the first person one meets as a sort of godhead. Business of +Jephtha's daughter." + +"But you know, I think there's something in it." Bannerman settled +himself in an easy chair and lit his cigarette with luxuriant +slowness. "It came over me, once. A hot evening, I remember, when I +was sitting in my studio and seeing all the people passing my window, +and somehow I began to feel sorry for them. And it came over me with +overpowering strength that I should rush out and follow the first +person I met, and be content to serve that person all the time. I +don't know what it was. A sort of desire to love all the people in +the world by--" + +"Wallowing in one," Levine finished. + +"Wallowing?" + +"Yes. You're such a subtle nature, Bannerman, that you have to +wallow in the coarseness of other people ... or rather in their +ordinary-ness. Besides, you wouldn't choose an ordinary person at +all." + +"Ah ... but that's where you're wrong. The whole secret of the +feeling lies in that ... that I'd follow the most ordinary person. +One who--" + +"Picks his teeth?" + +Bannerman frowned, nettled. "Well, why not? Picks his teeth or +his--" + +Levine laughed heartily. "Oh, _that_. Just as I thought. So that's +your idea of an ordinary person." + +"Why not? Why not?" Lustbader called from the window. "Suppose he +picked any part of his body..." + +"Now tell me, Bannerman. Is Lustbader an ordinary person?" + +"Well, now ... yes. I've seen him pick his nose." + +"Again just as I thought! No, Bannerman, you don't know what an +ordinary person is. A person's being ordinary you consider a great +curiosity, and you ask for a visible sign of it ... a token. It's a +prurient interest, peculiar to people of your kind ... withdrawn, +oblique natures--" + +Sintz's bright round eyes had been looking from one to the other. +"Now _I_ once followed a man on the street," he observed importantly. + +"There you are!" Bannerman triumphed. + +"No, wait ... not so fast. Now, Sintz, tell us ... why did you +follow him?" + +"He picked up a cigarette butt from the street," Sintz began +reminiscently, in the manner of a very important witness, "and put it +in his pocket, and I followed him." + +"But I object," Bannerman said. "The cigarette butt means nothing." + +"Did you see him smoke it?" + +"Did I!" Sintz slapped his thigh. "What did I follow him for?" + +"Exactly," Levine nodded. "The first thing you know, Bannerman, that +very ordinary person you were following would have to commit murder +or suicide or incest, or you'd lose interest in him. Smoke the +cigarette butt, so to speak. Yes, even if his being ordinary +consisted merely in sporting a pimple on his face, you'd have to get +thrills of horror every time you looked at it. Now isn't that true?" + +"The most average person ... the most average..." Bannerman repeated +weakly. + +"Ah ... again ... the most average. Take it from me, Bannerman, your +real wish, that you're not aware of, is to patronize some form of +abnormality. And if your person isn't abnormal, you console yourself +by saying he's at least the most average. But then, being most +average is a form of abnormality in itself." + +Bannerman yawned and looked towards the window. + +"How's Poldy?" he asked. "Damn him, why doesn't he come back? We +can't wait here forever." + +"Oh, he'll come back," Lustbader said disgustedly. "Couldn't decide +which was the first person he met." + +Lustbader turned away from the window, and after a moment's profound +thought, he took out his handkerchief and tied it over his eyes. +They watched, expecting a trick. + +"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, mimicking Poldy's voice. "The +first person I meet ... the first person I meet, I shall..." + +He advanced slowly as he had done before, walking on tiptoes and +pedalling the air with his fingers. First he made for the wall, but +there he turned abruptly and pedalled himself to the corner where +Marah was sitting. He stood before her, and after looking down at +her with his blindfolded eyes, he lifted his hands to her face and +felt it with stiff, heavy movements of his palm. She did not move or +close her eyes, her features were frozen in an expression of +curiosity about which there was something more abandoned than desire. +And at last, baffled by her immobility, Lustbader tore the +handkerchief from his eyes and wheeled himself around, and walked +heavily back to the chess table. His face was red and he avoided +looking at anyone. + +"Well, I think I'll be going," Bannerman said. He signalled to the +tall girl reclining on the couch, and she rose and followed him out +of the room. Jel and Twinem marched about in a loose but +affectionate embrace, looking for Poldy's hat. The man who had to +wear it found that it was too big for him, and he walked out +scowling, nothing visible of his face but the indignant nostrils and +compressed lips. Sintz slipped away, looking unhappy and forlorn. +When they thought he had gone he reappeared in the doorway and said +timidly, "Coming, Clandon?" Soon there were only a few people in the +room, and the chairs were visible in their various attitudes ... some +close to each other for private dialogue, some in groups, or some off +by themselves, looking like the negative of a picture. + +And now Levine went over to Marah, and bent down to her and spoke in +a low voice. "Why did you let him?" he asked earnestly. "Why did +you let him, Marah? Weren't you afraid?" + +She looked up at him a long time before answering. "And if I wanted +that ... if I wanted to be afraid?" In the slow smile that curved +her lips there was a suggestion of triumph and challenge. + +"_I_ know what she wants to be afraid of," Lustbader called loudly +from his game of chess. He was playing with himself this time, +trying to keep his left hand directly opposite him so that it might +move like a separate entity. + +Levine's voice rang with unhappy reproach. "But Lustbader ... +Lustbader..." + +"Why not?" she countered lazily. + +"Then that counts me out?" He looked at her with a stupid protracted +smile. + +Marah nodded. + +"You're afraid, perhaps, that you will forget yourself again? +Perhaps I have become too desirable, and because of your pact..." + +But she rose and stretched herself, an angry muscular stretching of +her arms, hands clenched. "I don't know..." she said with sudden +petulance. "I only wish I could be happy. The only thing I know is +that I am not happy." + +"But you were happy that time with me, Marah," he urged in a low +voice. "You said you were." + +She stood uncertainly before him, her gray eyes searching his face +with an expression in which there was both hope and weariness. "No," +she said sharply, "I don't think it's true." + +In the confused moment that followed, Levine tried to speak, tried to +lift his hand and touch her. But he finished by clapping his palm +and fist together, with the gesture of having concluded an important +transaction. "So be it," he said, bowing ceremoniously. "It only +confirms my theory..." his face, raised to look at her while his body +was still bowing, seemed dwarf-like and malicious ... "that all women +insist on remaining virgin. When they lose the gross virginity of +the body, they find themselves a new way to be inviolate. I think," +he added, standing erect and looking directly at her, "that you will +continue to remain unhappy. Well, I wish you joy of him." + +But when he had reached the door she ran to him swiftly, and laid her +hand on his arm. "Are you going?" she asked in a low incredulous +voice, her lips suddenly tremulous. + +"I think, Marah, I had better go," he said gently. "It's really..." +he hesitated, looking away from her with a twisted smile ... "it's +really no use. I knew it wasn't, from the beginning." + +Simultaneously with Levine's shutting the door, Lustbader set up a +clicking motion of the tongue and surveyed the game more intently. + +* * * * * * * + +For a long time Poldy remained sitting in the park. A woman came and +sat down next to him, and when he did not speak she turned and peered +curiously into his face. "Is that the dipper?" she asked, pointing +up at the sky, and bursting into a laugh at her own question. But +Poldy looked in the direction of her finger without speaking. + +Meanwhile Lewis Orling and Levine walked through the deserted +streets. Lustbader and Marah went home together. Marah was crying +softly to herself, and Lustbader glanced at her unhappily, wondering +what he could do. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +1 + +It was near morning when Lewis awoke. Still drowsy with heavy sleep +he lay on the couch, aware of the morning light on the window, of the +pleasant rumbling of wheels in the street below. As yet the light on +the window was not the sun. Too still and pale, it was only the +intimation of sunlight, and gave to his drowsy senses the feeling of +the whole earth still asleep, yet stirring in its sleep with a +mysterious premonition of morning. In a part of the room that was +still in shadow he saw Levine. He sat with his head resting on his +hand, perhaps asleep. Or, if he was not sleeping, it was the +attitude of one who had come to the end of all his thoughts, and +found there was nothing to do, nothing left but to remain motionless, +keeping automatically the posture of thinking. Without turning his +head, as if divining that Lewis was awake, Levine spoke to him. "You +slept well," he said. + +"And you?" Lewis asked softly. + +Levine shook his head. He turned his face for the first time and his +eyes showed dark and haggard. "I have forgotten how. For me," he +added with a wry smile, "sleep is a lost art." + +Scarcely hearing Levine's words, too preoccupied with the well-being +of his own awakening, Lewis stretched himself and rubbed his eyes. +It did not surprise him that he was fully dressed. He remembered now +what had happened ... how, after hours of walking, they had come to +Levine's apartment, and he had flung himself down on the couch, too +exhausted to hope for sleep; and how, between one word and the next +sleep had overtaken him ... so swiftly and skilfully, like a surgeon +who has done with it in one quick pass of his hand. Now he lay awake +remembering it, and in that wilfulness of his being that had betrayed +him into sleep, he felt there was something to gladden him ... +something that stirred in him an obscure sense of gratitude. Yes, he +had slept well, and he had slept long. He had lived intensely in his +sleep, living out part of his life in a profound symbolism. And +though now there was nothing he remembered from it, he knew this part +of his life was done with. Like actors whose gestures have too +profound an import to be played before the audience, all the desires +of his being had hidden themselves from him, and acted it out. And +in this awakening there was also the strange sense of convalescence, +a feeling of recovery from all the years which he had lived so +intensely in his sleep. Lightly his body lay on the couch, scarcely +aware of its own weight. And every movement that he made was strange +with an unaccustomed lightness; and whatever he looked at showed with +a brilliance of line, as if the edges were ablaze from their contact +with light. + +He lifted his hand before him, and studied his palm as though it was +strange to him, and spread his fingers apart and closed them again. +And what of Ruth? he asked himself.... What of his work? Strange +that he did not feel anger for her, that in this moment he longed for +her without reserve. At the thought of returning to her there was +the old tumult in his heart, but now he understood its meaning ... it +was revealed to him as the baffled speech of his body that had loved +Ruth all the time. He would return to Ruth and he would be happy +with her. As for his work, it was good that it had been destroyed. +He was free from it. Henceforth the routine of his days would be +sufficient, now he understood that it was possible to live without +ecstasy. And though at this moment there was no cause for him to +rejoice, yet a sense of well-being came over him, a strange and +unreasonable happiness; and in this he recognized again the +wilfulness of his being ... the wayward and laughing will, that like +a perverse child, was not impressed by anything that had befallen him. + +And for the future? It would be hard at first.... He would feel as +if he were standing in an empty room, in which there is still the +memory of things that have been there, and he would make painful, +baffled gestures toward them ... but it was nothing he could not get +used to. But here Levine's voice roused him, sounding thoughtfully +in the quiet room. He had risen from his chair and was standing at +the window, looking down into the city. + +"But there is one thought," he was saying, "that you must not have +when you lie awake ... the way the world is being re-arranged by +those who are sleeping. Every night when I can't sleep, I think of +the strange world that is being created by all the dreams of people +who are sleeping. And I feel as if I were alone in a madhouse, the +only sane person there. Only," he paused and shaded his eyes from +the light, "I wish I could join them." + +"It is too much to ask," he added, his voice trembling with +suppressed bitterness, "that one should always be sane. It is too +much to have only reality. I am sick of my reality. I wish I could +tear it apart, wrench it ... distort it hideously. I wish I could +enter their madhouse and dream something so filthy that it would turn +my brain." He checked himself with an ugly laugh. "No, this won't +do," he finished sharply. "This isn't the way to talk, Joseph +Levine. You've been thinking too long..." + +"I've been thinking too long," he continued, in a voice that was +again calm and self-contained. "And besides," he added, a faint +ironical smile hovering about his lips, "it isn't so bad. I've +discovered at least that something is over for me. There isn't much +else to believe, but I think this is left. We can always say..." the +words were chanted in a grotesque sing-song, "something is over ... +something is over." + +To Lewis the words took up the burden of his own thoughts. +"Something is over for me, too," he said softly. He raised himself +on his elbow and leaned forward eagerly. "Do you remember that night +I came to you when I left the hospital? Do you remember when I came +bleating to you? Yes, that is the word," he insisted with a +delighted involuntary laugh. "I came bleating to you. But I can't +understand now why I did it. Will you forgive me?" + +"If you wish it, yes," Levine said with ironical kindness. + +"But it was wrong ... it was wrong," Lewis insisted. "I can't +understand it. I can't understand what I wanted. I wanted to +whistle for the world ... I thought the whole world would come to my +hand if only I whistled for it. But now all that is over. I think +that now," he continued musingly, "I am content. Perhaps I shall be +able to live without ecstasy, without forgetfulness..." + +Levine sat down again, resting his head on his hand and staring at +the floor. "Content ... content..." he mimicked. "No ecstasy, no +passion, no forgetfulness ... the negative litany of our day. Well, +I too am content. Yes, why should I complain? Something is over. +Why should one complain," he asked with bitter indifference, rapping +his forehead, "if there is still enough resilience here to feel that +something is over?" + +Lewis did not answer and there was a long silence in the room. The +light on the window grew brighter, and sounds of stirring came up +from the street. Then he dozed off, a light and dreamless slumber, +from which he was awakened by the sound of Levine's footsteps going +back and forth on the carpet. + +"There's news for both of us in the paper," Levine said gently, +pausing near the window and nodding his head toward the paper that +lay next to Lewis on the couch. Lazily Lewis turned to read. "So +Konig confessed..." he said. + +"Yes, it seems he was guilty." And Levine added with a constrained +smile, "That makes me a fool." + +After a while Lewis sat up, his eyes bright with their intuition. + +"And Poldy?" he asked. + +"Poldy is dead," Levine began in a low voice. "There's a suicide +reported that corresponds to him." + +Lewis lay down again, staring up at the ceiling. "It should have +happened right away," he said slowly. "It was best." He took the +paper to read, but the next moment put it away from him. "No, I +won't read it now..." + +They were silent, listening to the sounds that came up to them from +the awakening street ... from a great distance they seemed to hear +them ... the muffled beat of a hammer, the rumbling of wheels, +footsteps ringing out on the pavement. And while they listened the +sounds became for them a primitive language, speaking with a profound +utterance that they heard and tried to understand. + + +2 + +The shadow of the wind running through the leaves was on the floor. +Under the scraps that lay there ... silk and cotton and wool that +were all colors ... it ran more swiftly than anything she had ever +known. "What is swifter than the shadow of the wind running through +the leaves?" she said to herself, and fell to wondering how it would +look in a place where there were many trees instead of only one. +Soon the sun came out. Then the sun and the leaves lay together on +the floor in a still mosaic of gold and gray. Watching it, Mirelie +forgot the machines and the coat she was sewing, and Anna's scolding +voice ... she thought it was a very quiet spot in the woods. +Meanwhile the tip of her needle looked up at her through the cloth, +like the bright watchful eye of an insect ... and Anna began to scold +her. + +"Only look at her now ... staring at the floor," she said. "Three +stitches and she's through." And, "Say, Mirelie, what have you +lost?" someone else called. + +"Go ... go to the door," Anna commanded. "Be busy. Look for David. +Perhaps he will come." + +So she went to the door and stood looking out. At first there was +nothing to see ... only a boy and a girl jumping rope in a place +where the sidewalk was clear, facing in the circling frame of the +rope, looking at each other while their bodies went up and down. And +an old man was standing near, who was stroking his cheeks all the +time as if thin fine webs kept gathering around them. But soon she +felt there was something swaying on the street. In and out of the +people it went, bending to one side like part of a machine that has +to move in a different way, walking behind its shadow that kept +swinging wilfully away from it. Then her heart changed its step, but +she was no longer ashamed of it ... she was no longer afraid of the +old man who had said in her dream, "They are married." + +"What is it that sways on the street and is not the shadow of a +tree?" she riddled to herself, and looked eagerly among all the +people to the place where she could see it again. And now she saw +David clearly, walking very fast and looking toward the shop, and +there was a faint smile on his face. She could tell, now, how it +was: sideways for his long right leg, up again for the other ... so +all the way down the street, until he had to stop at a place where it +was too crowded to pass. So she added to her riddle: "And stands +this way?" and she bent her body a little to one side, like the +branch of a tree when it has a premonition of wind. And now David +was near the shop, looking eagerly ahead to see whether Mirelie was +waiting for him. And now he was at her side, touching her hand. + +"Mirelie," he whispered, and he laughed softly to himself. + + + + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75924 *** |