Delphi Complete Works of Thorne Smith (Illustrated), page 44
I made no reply, and he went on, “Did she know you were going to tell me — I mean, did she send any message?”
Without thinking, I answered, “No.”
“Well, she’s doing the right thing,” he said after a pause. “You needn’t tell her I wish her luck, but I do. Should have done it years ago. You’d better come back, though. Think you will?”
“I’ll try, Hugh.”
For a moment he studied my face, then he said, “I don’t know what it’s all about, but, of course, I have my suspicions. You’ve been so irrational this summer that I’ve about given you up as hopeless, but remember, if you want anything that I have, it’s yours — and hers. Now, for God’s sake, go away and be lovelorn somewhere else.”
“Some day we may all be together again,” I suggested.
“Connecting rooms in a mad house,” he muttered, turning back to his work.
As I walked down through the grove Scarlet leaned out of her window and waved to me. At that moment I saw her only vaguely, as though a mist had drifted between us.
* * * * *
THE chill of Fall lay round me and in the air there was a feeling of the ending of things. Summer was flowing out, bearing on its current a host of intimate associations, none of which would ever return in quite its original mood. The future was uncertain and insecure. To- morrow life would be radically altered. Hilda would drop out of it, and I should be left alone. As I considered the approaching separation, resentment rose up within me. It seemed hardly loyal of her to abandon me in her flight. Now that she had finally committed herself to a new life and was about to gain her freedom, I felt that I was entitled to share it with her. As I made my way across the dark fields to the pavilion by the marshes, this feeling was uppermost in my mind. She had said that it was to be “our last little rendezvous,” and the needlessness of the thing irritated me.
Then, without purpose or reason, Scarlet’s face floated before me in the darkness. Her full lips were parted and her eyes smiled mockingly at me, leading me on. In them I read a promise of swift and immediate solace. Already the voices in the jungle were beginning to whisper, and already I found myself hearkening to their invitation. With a feeling of revulsion, I passed my hand in front of me to erase the vision from the night. It was gone, and in its place I gazed up at the stenciled sky. The cold perfection of the stars gave me a sensation of loss. Those gleaming points of gold, so remote from life, plagued me with their beauty. In their exquisite aloofness there was something both cruel and stupid. I was seized with a desire to pluck them from their settings and toss them into the sea — anything to blur their clear-cut splendor.
When I parted the reeds, Hilda was already there. The light scarf which I had snatched from the bush that morning lay across her shoulders. She was sitting with her back towards me, and as I stepped into the clearing, I gained the impression that she had been gazing for some minutes at the indistinct outline of the island. At the sound of my step behind her she turned quickly and looked up at me with a shade of fear in her eyes. It was pitiful to see. Then she smiled and held out her hand. I took it in silence and stood looking down at her. Something in the situation brought back to me a night at the beginning of summer when I had stood on the beach and looked down at her as she sat between the two great rocks. That night now seemed to belong to an imagined existence, and I wondered if this night, too, would in time become merely another tormenting reminder of the past.
“There were little waves then,” I said absently. “I can hear them now running along the beach... like songs within a dream they sounded.”
“And I watched you from the shadow of the rocks,” she replied, continuing my thought. “You looked so odd as you stalked through the sand.”
“You said as much at the time,” I remarked.
“Was it years ago or only a night?” she asked musingly. “Are we the same persons now, or have those two ceased forever to exist? Do you know, David?”
“All I know is that I’m seeing you for the last time,” I replied, “and that you’re going away to-morrow. I can think of nothing else. It stifles me, even the thought.”
“But why do you say for the last time?” she demanded, closely watching my face.
“I don’t know. I feel it. Don’t you?”
“See,” she said in an altered voice, disregarding my question, “I have dressed for the occasion.”
Even in the dim light I was able to see that she had made some special effort with her toilet as though hoping to leave me with a beautiful memory of this last evening together.
“It’s a new dress, David,” she continued. “He has never seen me in it.”
Her voice sounded strained, and a wave of fellowship momentarily swept aside the feeling of resentment I had been harboring against her all day.
“I can’t believe it’s over,” I muttered. “I can’t believe you’re going. This part is the dream.”
“It seems strange,” she replied, “to leave all this behind and to know that you’ll be here seeing it, breathing it, living it, sitting here at night and wondering to yourself about things. Never to look at the marshes again or to follow the path by the cliffs — it makes me feel lonely already, all lost and still inside.”
“But some day we may come back together,” I suggested.
“Not until that old, bleak house has been destroyed by fire and its ruins turned beneath the plow,” she replied, prophetically. “On that day we shall return together and sit here by the marshes.”
“Then let me go with you now!” I cried.
“Don’t, David,” she said. “I hate to hear you plead.”
Once more the feeling of resentment claimed my thoughts and I looked impatiently away.
“We’ve only a short time left,” she continued. “I must hurry back to-night, and I wanted you to remember this evening happily, always happily, David.”
“That will be impossible until we are together again,” I replied shortly.
“Then when I call you must come to me quickly,” she said.
“But will you call?”
“Listen to me, David,” she said in an odd, low voice. “I shall call and you will hear me, but whether you’ll answer me or not I can’t say. Only remember this, I shall never abandon you, never. You may wander far in search of me and grow weary in the quest, but as long as a spark of hope remains alive in you the path will still be open.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
She made no answer and for a time we sat in silence, her bare white arm and shoulder brushing against my sleeve. Unable to stand the silence, and endeavoring to ward off a desire that was taking possession of me, I began to explain to her the details of the flight. At first she listened attentively, but as I continued to talk I could see that she was no longer interested in what I was saying. Like an obedient schoolgirl whose mind was obviously elsewhere engaged, she sat beside me, looking curiously into my face. Finally, as if desirous of ending the interview, she said, “Yes, David. I’ll do that.”
“What?” I asked.
“Wait for you down the road until you come along with the carriage. My maid is to carry the bags and we’re both to stand in the woods. David.”
“Yes.”
“What’s to become of the little sloop? I hate to leave it behind. It’s almost a part of me — the happy part.”
“It will stay behind with me, I’m afraid.”
“But you’re going to see me off — the last of me.”
“Yes, Hilda.”
“And I’ll wave to you until you grow so small — just a little speck of friendship, and then that too will fade from view,... David!”
She rose to her feet and stood with her face buried in her hands.
“Can I do it?” she whispered. “Can I?”
Her shoulders shook and dry sobs broke from her lips. I sprang from the reeds and took her in my arms, and at the touch of her body I lost control. She dropped her hands and looked into my eyes. There was something she saw in them that made her draw back. This movement served only to intensify my desire and I held her the more fiercely, pressing my lips to her neck. A shudder ran through her and her body stiffened against mine.
“David, David, David,” she whispered, beating me back with her hands. “Friends to the end — ah, David, friends!”
With one hand I forced her head back to kiss her lips, then her resistance ceased and she lay limply in my arms, her head thrown back and a twisted smile on her lips.
“And you, too, David?” she said with a note of irony in her voice. “Go on.”
The life went out of my arms and I released her. She sank to the reeds at my feet. In a dazed way I looked down at her, then with a feeling of unspeakable regret, I raised my eyes to the cold, unchanging stars. A wan moon set in a pool of yellow haze had floated out across the sky, casting over the stars a spume of mist. Everything seemed confused and shattered. Hilda rose to her feet.
“Good night,” she said in a calm voice, and held out her hand. “I’ll try to remember all you’ve told me about to- morrow.”
I helped her up the embankment, unable to speak, but when she had taken a few steps from me I managed to call after her: “Good night, Hilda. I’m sorry.”
She stopped and hesitated, then with impulsive directness turned and retraced her steps through the clinging grass. I was conscious of a loveliness in her, more poignant than I had ever before experienced. She seemed to be lifted out of herself as if some unknown but exalted force were inspiring her emotions. I felt that she was no longer a part of her environment, that she had transcended life itself. With a feeling of adoration, sharply edged with pain, I raised my eyes to hers and drank in the beauty and tenderness of her face. I tried to speak, but could only mutter incoherently.
“I know how it is,” she said, and held out her arms to me. “Kiss me now, David.”
For a moment I clung to her as her lips brushed lightly across mine.
“Poor old thing,” she whispered. “Don’t worry. I understand.”
A moment later she was only a shadow moving through the fields.
* * * * *
OVERTAXED by the events of the past two days, and exhausted from lack of sleep, I returned to the cottage. More than ever now I feared the coming of the dream. Although my body cried out for rest, my mind, as though aware of danger, still fought against taking the plunge into the weird unconsciousness inevitably induced by sleep.
The house was dark and I went directly to my room. Once the door was closed, I undressed rapidly and threw myself down on the bed, but the moment my body touched the sheets my veins seemed to tingle with fire. As often in the past I had found myself unable to rest under the strain of mental and physical excitement, a spirit of restlessness now overcame my fatigue. With renewed force my resentment against Hilda returned. If she had understood so well, why had she fought so desperately against me? On our last night together why had she made herself so aloof and unattainable? Why had she been like the stars, flawless and remote, serving only to reveal the depth of my own imperfection? I thought of her neck and shoulders, and the delicacy of her skin so smooth and white and close to me, brushing against my arm. My lips had touched her neck and the memory thrilled through me. Motionless I lay on the bed striving to beat back the corroding impulses that were scorching the most sacred thing in my life. Her woman’s beauty drugged my senses, filling me with unsatisfied longing. My arms, rigid against my sides, ached to hold her body.
Then as if to protect Hilda against the assault of my unleashed passion, once more Scarlet’s face floated across my vision. I closed my eyes to dwell on her disturbing charm.
When I opened them again, Scarlet was in the room. Like an oriental idol she stood revealed in the drifting light of the moon, her body gleaming through a gauze of black. Her hair, arranged across her head in a high fantastic wave, shone like lacquered teakwood. The moonlight lent it luster.
Silently she moved toward the bed, pausing at each step to listen while her great black eyes rested on my face — alert, devouring, caressing. Preceding her there swam through the air an oppressive wave of perfume beneath which my nerves quivered.
As she approached the bed I watched her through half- closed lids, and not until she leaned over me and covered my mouth with her lips did I show her that I was aware of her overpowering nearness.
* * * * *
SCARLET had triumphed; but it was not until several hours had passed, and she had stolen from the room as silently as she had entered, that I realized the full extent of her victory — and my defeat. Even then I endeavored to stay the flood of realization by seeking an outlet in some trivial form of action. Brushing away the drug-like perfume still lingering in the air, I glanced with dull eyes around the room, and wondered what had become of the moon. Only a moment ago, it seemed, the room had been drenched with its light, which now had drifted away leaving darkness behind. For some reason it became important for me to find out where the moon had gone. I submerged myself in this single interest, and as though destroying some damning piece of evidence, I tossed the sheets aside and felt my way to the window.
The grove was dark and still. Far away in a corner of the sky there was a hint of radiance seeping through a cloud. The moon was there, retreating. Soon even that feeble haze of light would be withdrawn. I shivered nervously and returned to bed. The moment my head touched the pillow, sleep smote my jangled mind with numbing force, and I crumpled into the unconscious.
Then came the dream. I saw Hilda far away on the green plain, moving like a white flame through the reeds. A form — half woman, half beast — was holding me to the shore. It was soft and warm, and beautiful, and it clung to me with shameful and maddening caresses. Although I endured the embrace of its arms I could not bring myself to look at the creature, but kept my eyes fixed on Hilda. Standing now before the island, she was looking back at me. I hesitated and she still waited, her arms outheld to me in an attitude of supplication. When I failed to respond, her arms dropped to her sides, and with bowed head she moved over the narrow band of water separating her from the island. It was then that I tore myself from the hot circle of those tawny arms and rushed out over the marshes in pursuit of Hilda. At the edge of the island she turned and looked back once more with an expression of infinite sadness in her eyes. Then she held out her arms to me and I thought that her lips framed my name. Thus she stood there, waiting with an encouraging smile. Filled with unconquerable terror, I stopped. Hilda turned, and with a last backward look, vanished among the trees. With all my heart I longed to follow her; but now that she was gone, melted forever from the eyes of the world, I lacked the courage to continue alone. I tried to call her name, but no sound came to my lips. Invisible wings were in the air and running feet fled past me. Over the marshes darkness was creeping as the yellow radiance faded above the island. I turned back to the dark figure waiting for me on the shore. But when its arms were once more thrown round my neck there came to me a sudden and overpowering realization of loss. Hilda was gone — dead!
With this knowledge beating at my heart I awoke and sprang from the bed. As I threw on my clothes a voice kept whispering monotonously in my brain, “Hilda is dead. Hilda is dead.” Like the beating of those invisible wings across the marshes, the echo of her death was chanted in my ears in muffled waves of sorrow. “Hilda is dead. Hilda is dead.” I should never again see her in life. I should never touch her hand or hear the sound of her voice. Hilda was dead. I had let her die. I had let her go out alone.
Then came the cry to my lips, and reason vanished. I had a vague consciousness of tearing open the door and of rushing from the cottage. There were dark trees ahead of me. They were flying past. Wind moved through their branches. It was waiting to strike me down. As I ran sobbing voices in the wind cried after me: “Hilda is dead. Hilda is dead.”
I was standing in the dark hallway of Elliott’s house. Here the dawn was reluctant to enter and the place felt damp and cheerless. As I hurried up the stairs I remembered that Hilda had once referred to the position of her room. She had seen me from its window as I waited outside in the road. I now groped my way down a dark corridor to where I thought her room was situated. On the way I opened several doors and called her name.
“Hilda! Hilda!”
Like a lost breath my words floated through the hall.
At the end of the passage I threw open the last door and entered the room. Then I stopped and a great calmness touched me.
Like a glorious promise the light of dawn rested on her face. Gone now were the lines of suffering, only peace remained. Through the open window a fresh breeze blew in from the sea. In me room there was a sense of freedom and space. There was something almost joyous in the air.
“It will always be morning now,” I thought as I looked down at the calm, untroubled face. “Morning for you.”
Still hoping that she would awake and smile up at me, I waited, but in my heart I knew that Hilda was past all earthly waking. Her lips would never smile, her lashes never part. I took her face between my hands and the coldness of her skin brought to me the full realization of her departure. Without tears, without sorrow, almost as though seeking rest, I let my head drop to the pillow beside her. A little later a light step hurried across the carpet. Then a strong hand was placed on my shoulder, and I was lifted to my feet. Absently, and without the slightest interest, I studied Elliott’s face and noticed that the scar on his forehead had turned from vivid red to blue. He would always bear that mark.
“It was the dream,” I explained, absently. “I knew she was gone. I saw her go among the trees... like a flame.”
“Damn your dreams to hell!” he cried. “They’ve robbed me of my wife.”
For some reason I smiled at this huge, threatening creature. In his senseless anger, there was something comically out of key. He had lost a piece of property.
“Yes, Elliott,” I replied. “The dreamer wins. You didn’t want her, anyway.”
He raised his arm to strike me, then let it fall to his side. With an expression of fear in his eyes he looked down at the silent figure. At the foot of the bed stood the maid, sobbing quietly, her fingers pecking at the railing. I, too, looked down at Hilda with the knowledge that it would be for the last time, but I knew also that I was not leaving her here behind me. She was out somewhere in the dawn. She was free. I took her hand and rubbed it mechanically in an effort to give it warmth, then placing it gently on the sheet, I turned to the maid with a new suspicion in my mind.
