Delphi Complete Works of Thorne Smith (Illustrated), page 30
As I walked along the beach I argued with myself that I was too wrapped up in my own conceits and too skeptical of human conduct for the love of a woman to overcome the introspective obstructions of my thoughts. With painful reasoning I rejected the existence of such a possibility, and by the very fervor of my logic I was at last forced to admit that I was merely endeavoring to delay an inevitable capitulation. Like a bright light in a tangled confusion of thought the knowledge came to me that even though I were never again to look on Hilda Elliott’s face, still she would haunt me to the end of my days. Quietly, but completely I accepted the situation, realizing full well that in all probability, it would lead to nothing but unhappiness.
* * * * *
FOR some time I had been passing and repassing the two isolated rocks which on a previous occasion had served me as a bath house. In my preoccupation I had not at first noticed that a third object was placed between them, like a small rock but recently born to the monolithic old couple looming watchfully over its head. As I stood regarding this unfamiliar object, I began to feel that I was no longer alone on the beach. Another person had been sitting there for some time, quietly observing my actions. Without considering the good taste of my curiosity I approached the rocks and peered between them.
“Good evening, Mr. Landor,” came disconcertingly from the shadows.
“Hello,” I replied, somewhat taken aback. “What are you doing here?”
“Watching you with great interest,” she replied. “Tell me, do all poets stalk? I mean, is it essential, like gout to a rich old uncle or biscuits to a ten-day bride?”
“Or good fellows and fair weather,” I suggested.
“Exactly,” she answered with a serious face. “Do you believe it always is?”
“I’ve never had the courage to investigate,” I said. “We must have some illusions, you know.”
“But don’t you think it could be real bad weather just for once when they all get together?” she persisted.
“The song makes no allowance for even a slight shower,” I answered.
“Very well,” she said with a little sigh, “but it does seem remarkable to me. How about poets and stalking? Does that hold, too?”
“I don’t know. I’m not one. I’ve tried. MacKellar was lying as usual. Anyway did you ever walk comfortably in sliding sand?”
“I have,” she replied. “And what’s more I can run in sliding sand. For instance—”
Without waiting to finish her sentence she sprang to her feet and flashed away in the darkness. The night closed round her white figure like the velvet lining of a black pocket, and from the depth of the pocket there floated a swift note of laughter. Along the beach I could hear the sound of scattering pebbles, then these grew fainter and silence settled down. Her disappearance had been so sudden and unexpected that for a moment I remained motionless, confused. Then sensing the implied challenge in her flight, I followed her through the mist which had crept in from the sea. And as I ran the dampness split coolingly across my face like ribbons of moist gauze. In a short time I came to a place where there were sharp rocks and boulders. The beach curved here and came to an abrupt stop, and the descending cliffs, running out into the sea, formed a steep barrier on the crest of which dark trees, vaguely defined, waved their arms like impotent magicians at the ocean moving fitfully in its sleep. As I searched among the bowlders I heard the name of Hilda falling unconsciously from my lips, but nothing stirred save the little waves endlessly fingering the sand.
With a feeling of having been duped, I was about to abandon the search when from down the beach I heard a clear call floating through the heavy air like the notes of a distant bell on a thick night. When I returned to the rocks Hilda Elliott was sitting quietly Between them as though she had never stirred.
“That was a fiendish thing to do,” I said.
“I was exercising you,” she explained innocently, “Taking the stalk out of your joints.”
“You were deliberately imperiling my life and limb in a forest of infuriated bowlders,” I complained sitting down beside her.
“If you haunt the beach so much,” she answered, “you should have discovered all of its secrets by this time.”
“I never discovered you before.”
“I haven’t been here to discover.”
“Why did you come down to-night?” I asked.
“While you were watching me stalk I was thinking of you. When I saw you sitting here between the rocks it was as if I had thought you into real life.”
“Well, don’t think of dragons or mosquitoes,” she said, “or we might be very uncomfortable.”
“I was thinking of your husband, too.”
She looked at me in astonishment for a moment, then burst out laughing. It did my heart good to hear it. When she had finished she said, “That’s one of the most impertinent remarks I’ve ever heard. If it wasn’t so ridiculous, I’d be very angry. I think I am, a little.”
“I didn’t mean anything,” I replied. “I was thinking of the trouble I made for you by getting mixed up with those jellyfish.”
“Then Hugh was gossiping after all, wasn’t he?”
“No, not gossiping. He was scolding me for having started a row and put a stop to your sailing.”
“He must have said more than that. Be honest now.”
“Yes, he did — you know how he talks.”
She rose to her feet and walked down to the water’s edge, where she stood with her back to me and her face turned toward the night smothered ocean. She seemed to be deep in thought. As I watched her I rapidly considered the situation and decided that no good purpose would be served by feigning ignorance of her life with John Elliott. It would only make things more strained and unnatural for us both. She slowly retraced her steps and stood looking down at me.
“Yes,” she said. “I know how Hugh talks and I know how every one else talks around here, but you mustn’t let it affect you. One more drop of commiseration would drive me to terrible things. There’s some truth in it all, obviously. Sooner or later you’d find out for yourself, but it’s unimportant. It’s my particular problem after all, mine to solve, and until I’ve solved it I’m not seeking another way out.” She stopped for a moment and trampled the sand with her foot.
“Hugh’s splendid,” she continued. “I love him. In fact he’s the only person I talk with at all, but he refuses to understand. He puts all his patience into his paint and lashes out with his tongue. You shouldn’t take him too seriously. And don’t think of me as a pretty princess who had been captured and brought to this place. I came here of my own free will. I left the garden in search of the high adventure — romance, and if I didn’t find it I must be partly to blame. I’m a part of the problem, too. Do you understand?”
“I don’t understand anything,” I replied. “That is I don’t understand you, but for all that I’m sorry about the little sloop. It was sort of fun for you and now that’s stopped. If it hadn’t been for those jellyfish it wouldn’t have happened.”
“But something else would,” she said. “Something always does.”
“Yes, as Hugh said, you might have sailed away so far in that little boat of yours that you’d never have reached land alive.”
“I don’t know as that would make such a great difference, would it?”
“I wish I could shake you a little,” I replied.
She laughed lightly and sank down beside me.
“Men are all like that,” she answered. “When they don’t know what to say they want to fight.”
“All right, but wouldn’t you have solved your problem a little too easily? Death never clears up anything. It merely adds to the mystery.”
“How sure you are about such things,” she replied. “The only thing that’s real to me in life is the leaving of it and what follows after. All the rest seems to be just a series of false, ineffectual starts leading nowhere.”
“But even that is better than a complete stop, isn’t it.”
“Is it?” she asked with a slight smile. “I’m not so sure about that. Every one seems to be going busily around routing out drab little scraps of life and teasing them to shreds, but it’s not so clear to me. After all how do we know that it is life? Isn’t it just as sensible to be as much interested in what lies beyond life than in some obvious travesty waiting round the corner?”
She laughed a trifle nervously, I thought, and sifted some sand between her fingers.
“Don’t look so upset,” she continued. “Haven’t you ever felt like that?”
“Yes,” I admitted in a low voice. “I left the city to get rid of it — it’s such an abject, negative feeling. You see, I happen to be one of those who love life and everything about it, even its obvious travesties, but so far I haven’t made much of a success of living. I seem to lack the proper equipment. My mind is too soft. Thoughts form pools there that never drain. They grow stagnant.”
Impulsively she reached out and placed her hand on mine. My fingers trembled at her touch and I glanced away fearing that she might read in my eyes the struggle going on within me.
“How serious we are,” she said, “talking here in the darkness like a pair of tragic masks. We should try to help each other out instead of adding to the gloom.”
“I need a lot of helping at present,” I remarked.
“Do you?” she asked, studying my face. “Well so do I. Shall we form a league — a sort of defensive alliance?”
“I’ve caused you enough trouble already,” I replied
“Still lamenting the loss of the sloop,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ll get her back before long.”
“I’d like to be your ally,” I replied, “but I’m afraid the arrangement would be too one-sided. I’m not a very helpful person.”
“You’ve helped a lot already,” she answered, giving my hand a slight squeeze. “Suppose I should tell you that I came down here to-night merely because Hugh said you were always haunting the beach?”
“I’d feel foolishly happy,” I replied.
“Well, that’s a start,” she said, smiling into my eyes. “Go ahead and feel foolishly happy. The alliance is already working.”
This time I took her hand in mine and held it, but I did not speak, knowing in my heart that in the true sense I could never be her friend. Along the beach the wavelets rustled like songs within a dream. In silence we listened to the chorus of little silvery voices. Hilda Elliott was sitting with her head against the rocks. Her eyes were closed. Gently she withdrew her hand from mine.
“You see,” she murmured without stirring. “Already we’ve begun to be friends. We can enjoy each other’s silence.”
CHAPTER IX
FOR THE NEXT few weeks Hilda and I were very much together. Her husband had gone away on one of his periodical and unexplained visits to the city, from which he would presently return heavy-eyed and sullen, to stalk watchfully round his grounds.
“Things won’t be like this after he comes back,” she warned me once as her searching eyes gazed seaward from the island on which we were sitting. “With a few unpleasant exceptions, my husband dislikes all men.”
She seldom made any reference to her husband and always evaded my attempts to lead her into a discussion of her relations with him. During his absence she seemed to be determined to forget his very existence, and I attributed this remark of hers to a sudden realization of the transitory nature of her release.
“It would be nice if we could take the little sloop and sail away forever,” I suggested.
She cast me a sympathetic smile, then her face clouded.
“Yes,” she said, “but that would be escape without freedom. As you reminded me once, it would solve nothing, and I’m not yet ready for flight. There are things I must settle first.”
“It seems to me that flight under any circumstances would be well justified,” I replied.
“Some of my husband’s friends used to say things like that,” she answered. “They were so disinterested that I suspected them when they offered to take me out of it all. But you’re different, David. I like you, and because I do I’m going to ask you to change the subject. The sky is far too blue to-day to be filled with man-made clouds.”
“But, Hilda,” I protested, “what about the years? Time isn’t standing still to watch you solve your problem.”
“Come now, glum face, you promised to be my ally. No battles, no internal conflict, or I shall instantly break off relations.”
I shrugged my shoulders and abandoned the attack, defeated, but still rebellious.
In the meantime we made the most of our freedom. The neck of land, the islands and the ocean surrounding them afforded us endless opportunities for expeditions by water and foot, and I who had already exhaustively explored both land and sea, took pleasure in bringing my companion to the places I had discovered.
Often I used to wait for her in the fields leading down to the marshes. Through the high grass she would come flying to meet me, her arms wide spread and her head thrown back. Something in the buoyancy and rhythm of her movements made me think of the bright strangers she had spoken about in telling me of her garden. She seemed so swift and light that I almost feared she would spring from the earth and flash away forever into space. Then I would hurry to meet her and we would come together with great confusion which would send us tumbling through the high grass.
At times I became dispirited when I thought of the separation that would follow the homecoming of John Elliott. When such thoughts came I found it difficult to conceal my emotions from Hilda and to refrain from telling her the truth concerning the relationship existing between us. These spells were usually accompanied by periods of moodiness during which she would study me with troubled eyes as though fearfully endeavoring to catch the thoughts that were passing through my mind. For the most part, we were happy enough together, and if at times the laughter was a trifle mirthless, Hilda marvelously succeeded in reestablishing an atmosphere of natural and spontaneous comradery.
That summer I was happier than I had ever been before in my life, and at the same time sadder. The days were filled with bright, sun-filtered hours, and at night the stars like golden bees swarmed out across the sky. It was like living in a beautiful dream with the knowledge that an unpleasant awakening was near at hand. I found pleasure in watching Hilda return, cautiously at first and then tumultuously as her confidence in me increased, to the lost garden of her girlhood from which she had so heedlessly departed. From her behavior I gained the impression at times that she realized only too keenly she was paying the garden a fugitive visit and that in a little while she would once more find herself standing alone and cheerless outside its vanishing walls.
As the days passed I could see that she had taken my promise to her very seriously and that in spite of her occasional flashes of coquetry, she confidently relied on me to give her the friendship her spirit craved. Her personality grew more vivid and interesting as I came to know her. A mere suggestion or a fine shade of meaning was all she required to give body to a mood. She was able to make things live because she herself was the very essence of life, an exquisitely real and vital creature whose intellectually honest mind gave warmth and color to her thoughts.
Of Hilda Elliott I still carry the same impression I received when first I looked at her from the bottom of her little boat. To-day the sloop lies rotting in one of those forgotten havens where honest sailboats go when they become weary of the sea, and the small hands that once so skillfully guided the craft have forever yielded up their hold on its tiller, yet in memory she still remains to me as being unlike any other woman I have ever known — braver of spirit, more honest of mind and physically more beautiful.
Once in the early morning just after the sun had risen we came together on the beach and dashed in among the waves. A great roller broke over her and tossed her into my arms. As the wave receded we clung together, alternately laughing and gasping for breath. Then suddenly our eyes met and we became vitally conscious of each other. I found myself looking down into the eyes of a new Hilda. They were touched with languor and expectation as they gazed into mine. The morning was young and she was young and I was fresh with life. I wanted only her and at that moment she knew it. For an instant we stood like statues carved together from a single block, but the racing blood in our bodies warmed through our wet garments and made us thrill with life. Before the expression could fade from her eyes I kissed her mouth and at the touch of my lips I could feel her little finger nails convulsively digging into my arms. Then she wriggled from my grasp and sprang back to the beach, where she stood looking at me out of eyes wide with astonishment. For a moment I thought she was going to laugh, but she turned instead and ran down the beach, her white legs flashing and her hair streaming out behind her. At the steps leading up to the road she stopped and held up her hands to me in an odd little motion of protest, then she inclined her head and hurried up the steps. I went for a long swim and by the time I returned she was dressed and waiting for me on the beach.
“You’re an idiot,” she announced as I came panting up to her. “Oh, what an idiot! What an exasperating loon!”
I threw myself down on the sand and turned my face to the sun. And together we planned the day, but neither of us referred to the incident of the kiss. I could tell that she was self-conscious. Her businesslike manner betrayed her. As she talked I watched her with amused eyes until at last she gave me a vicious dig with the point of her shoe.
