Delphi Complete Works of Thorne Smith (Illustrated), page 47
“By ‘it’ you mean what?” I parried.
“Things in general,” he said, “and you in particular.”
“I’ve kept on living,” I replied, “if that’s what you mean, but there wasn’t any virtue in that. I’ve lived so that I might look, and I looked so that I might cease to live.”
He smiled and said, “Complicated, but characteristic. You never were an easy person to follow.”
“You know, Aird,” I continued after a moment’s silence, “it’s a weak thing to say and a cowardly way to feel, but I can’t help it — the more I see of life the more I want death. For years it’s been like that with me.”
“You’re courting a veiled woman,” he replied gravely. “That’s what interests you. Her face may be lovely or it may be—”
“A tragic mask?”
He nodded.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve always liked to think of the hereafter as being a place where we’d be able to collect all our happy memories and make them live again.”
“And the unhappy ones?”
“They’ll float around in the background for the sake of contrast. An hereafter would be a depressing place without its lights and shades.”
Under the heckling of the wind the waves were herding in, their arching backs ponderously moving shoreward. I could have stayed on there forever, listening to the pounding of the surf and feeling the moist wind against my face. There was peace here, and contentment, and a release from all the brooding things that lay behind. Already I was beginning to feel rested and refreshed. Aird’s voice broke in on my thoughts.
“By the way,” he asked, “where have you been putting up since your return?”
I told him about the deserted shack on the beach, mentioning the fact that Elliott had placed his cottage at my disposal. In doing so I endeavored to make my voice sound unstudied, but for some reason it had a defensive ring.
“That was surprisingly thoughtful of John Elliott,” he remarked when I had finished. “Have you been to see him?”
“Only once,” I replied guiltily. “I dined there the other night.”
“Then you know that he married the girl you used to call Scarlet?”
“Naturally,” I said, a little resentfully. “I wasn’t greatly surprised. I seem to have lost the faculty.”
“I’m living alone now, David,” he said. “The gingerbread days are over; the old lady has gone. I was only thinking that if at any time you happen to need a berth there’s a room over at my place. You can see the island from its windows and at sunset there’s a good view. I think you’d like it at the cottage. It’s quiet there — almost too quiet.”
He broke off rather lamely, like one in doubt of his ground. Although I well understood his invitation had been extended in my best interests, I was unable to check an unreasonable, almost childish feeling of resentment. I deliberately convinced myself that he was trying to meddle in my affairs, that he was attempting to save me from Scarlet and John Elliott, and thereby implying that I lacked the strength to save myself. Perhaps he already suspected something. Perhaps he knew how morally flabby I had become. His quiet, inquiring eyes irritated me. They were altogether too honest and friendly. My head was beginning to ache, and peace had fled from my heart. A desire for the yellow wine returned to me, taking possession of my mind. Why was this man annoying me, placing in my way an opportunity to escape when I had almost resigned myself to captivity?
He rose from the rock and stood with his eyes bent on the far reaches of the ocean, where already the night was gathering. I followed his example and stood beside him. I was trembling slightly now and the fear that he might notice this irritated me the more. Then he turned and looked me squarely in the eyes.
“David,” he said quietly, “God knows what it is, but something is hurting you. You seem to have lost part of yourself, and you’re afraid to get it back. For some reason you’re angry with me now. In a minute you’ll probably be telling me to mind my own business, and that’s just what I’m going to do. Just the same I want you to remember that I’ve asked you to make use of my cottage, and that the invitation still holds good. The place is yours whenever you want it — or need it.”
“Tell me first what’s your objection to Elliott and his wife,” I asked stubbornly.
“They’re not right,” he said in an even voice, “and you know it. Their life is one of debauchery and despair. They’re morally and physically rotten. That’s what I object to. If I remember rightly there was never any love lost between you and John Elliott. Why do you begin to defend him now? Has he changed so greatly since you saw him last, or have you? Do you know what the fishermen call his house, so evil has its reputation become? They call it the ‘Mad- house,’ and that’s what it is — literally. One of the girls who worked there for a while — a girl brought up from the beach — oh, well, she’s a drug fiend now. How did that happen? You must have noticed something, felt something, or did the place please you?”
He held out his hand to me, but I pretended not to notice his action. It suited me to hurt both myself and him. Some devil was squeezing my soul. I could feel his malicious hands beating down the friendly words trying to pass my lips. I wanted with all my heart to accept Aird’s invitation, to go immediately with him to his cottage, yet something prevented me. He hesitated and then turned slowly away, looking more forlorn and solitary than ever. When he had gone but a few paces, I wanted to call him back to say a few words showing that I was grateful, but the words would not come. With a feeling of wretchedness I sat down on the rocks and waited for the night to come in from the sea.
CHAPTER XXV
LATE THAT NIGHT I heard footsteps in the cottage. This time I was convinced my imagination was not involved. Some one was downstairs, moving slowly across the room. A chair scraped against the floor, then silence — a tense, waiting silence. The sounds began again. I heard them on the stairs, then in the hall, then just outside my door. Like a hunted animal, I slipped from my bed and, crouching in a corner, fumbled for some matches. My fingers were trembling so violently that I was unable to strike a light. The door opened softly, and with its opening, even deeper darkness flooded the room. Then unexpectedly my muscles relaxed and I regained my composure. Although I was unable to see her, I was aware of Scarlet’s presence. Her perfume pervaded the room. I struck a match and caught a flash of her pallid face. Before she had time to recover from her surprise, I walked over to the table and lit the lamp. We stood facing each other without speaking, then my nerves snapped.
“What do you want here?” I asked in a sharp voice.
She made no answer, but continued to stand in the door, her eyes fixed on my face. In spite of myself I could not help but admire the intense quality of her beauty, and the consummate art she used in setting it off. Some women are artificially natural, while others are naturally artificial. Scarlet belonged to the latter class. To the end she would retain the physical glory of her body. Nevertheless, as I studied her closely, I knew that something had gone out of her. She was no longer secure in the claim of her beauty. Her confidence had failed.
She was dressed outlandishly, and yet one could hardly think of her as wearing any other costume. Her neck and shoulders were bare, and round her body was wound a black shawl, figured with leaves of gold. Through her hair was twisted a band of olive-colored silk.
The silence became oppressive; I began to drum impatiently on the table.
“What do you want here?” I repeated, my voice sounding strange in my ears.
She remained silent, but a contemptuous smile touched her lips.
“Damn it!” I cried, springing from my chair and advancing across the room. “Answer me.”
She stopped smiling and looked at me with an expression of infinite cunning.
“Come in or get out,” I added in a quieter tone.
She walked across the room, and drawing a bottle from the folds of her scarf, placed it on the table.
“Were you expecting me?” she said, with a nervous laugh. “Well, I didn’t come unprepared.”
There was something unnatural in the way she spoke. In her eyes burned a feverish light.
“I’ve been expecting you for some time,” I replied.
“The same modest old David,” she said, sitting down. “Always glad to see one.”
Her restless fingers were playing with a thin silver chain tucked in at her breast.
“Not necessarily,” I threw back. “Any animal will follow its prey, whether it happens to be fat or lean.”
“That doesn’t insult me at all,” she said “It rather pleases me. I can see the picture. I love it. A tigress. She is moving through the green shade of the jungle like a swift shadow. And she is urged on by a desire for blood. Can’t you see it, David?”
As she spoke she rose from the chair and stood confronting me with blazing eyes, her body swaying as though she were lashing herself to a rage.
“Can’t you see it?” she repeated in a coarse voice. “It’s green and hot and moist.”
As she moved slowly round the table I watched her. Between her painted lips there was a glimpse of strong white teeth. The excitement of her mood was contaminating. In the silence I heard the pounding of my heart.
“You see it,” she said, laughing confidently. “You see it well enough. Don’t pretend. Don’t stand there like that. You’re one of us... you’ve always been. See the tigress? See her?”
She paused and measured me with her eyes.
“Then if you don’t see her,” she cried, “feel her!”
The full weight of her body struck me and her teeth cut into the skin of my shoulder. It was confusing to feel her lips enclosing so much pain. I staggered back to the wall and made an effort to thrust her from me.
“Fool!” she cried in a choking voice. “Here and here and here!”
The hot life of her body surged through mine, and the darting pains in my shoulder, instead of arousing anger, awoke in me an answering spark of frenzy.
“The tigress has captured her prey,” she whispered, pressing her lips to my neck.
My arms held her.
“David!” she said, and her startled eyes met mine. “David!”
Then her head fell forward and she buckled in my arms. The light faded from her eyes like breath from a mirror. As I struggled to support the dead weight of her body, I felt dazed and unprepared. Her arms dropped from my neck and sagged behind her.
I carried her to the bed and stood looking down at her, my mind filled with conflicting thoughts.
“It’s green,” she murmured, “green and hot and moist... and we are there in the twilight.... Can’t you see it, David?”
Opening her heavy eyes, she looked at me dreamily, then she smiled and her lids closed. Her breath rose and fell regularly as though she were sleeping, her body relaxed voluptuously, and one bare arm slid down over the side of the bed. I went to the table and stood there with my back to the sleeping woman. It seemed to me that hours had passed before I was able to bring myself to move.
Finally I sat down and drank a glass of wine. In a short time a kindling radiance enveloped my body. I rose from the table and approached the bed. She must have felt my hand moving across her shoulder, for she smiled in her stupor and murmured something I was unable to understand. At the sound of her voice I drew back and walked to the window.
How dark and secretive the world had become. Even nature was conspiring against me, driving me back into the room where Scarlet lay and the yellow wine glowed in the lamplight. In sheer rage I beat my hands on the sill until my knuckles bled, then with an oath I faced about and confronted the room as I would an antagonist. There was Scarlet on the bed and the wine on the table — an abundance of blessings at my disposal. I chose the wine and drank avidly. The room became peopled with the white floating figures. They twisted up under the lamp shade, yellow light gilding their breasts and thighs — white floating figures, curving slowly through the air, holding out their arms to me from the shadows. I wondered where Hilda was. And then I saw her. She was standing at the end of a dark tunnel, and her back was turned to me. She was facing a green, sloping country. Without looking back, she drifted into the light. Nothing remained but a strip of green, then that faded from view, and I found myself gazing down at Scarlet. With a twinge of fear I returned to the table where some wine still remained in the bottle. I drank this down and threw on my clothes. If I stayed longer in the room I should eternally regret it. While I dressed I fumbled at the lamp until I had succeeded in extinguishing its flame. In the darkness that followed I heard Scarlet’s regular breathing. Then the room dropped away and I became a stranger to time and space.
When reason returned to me I was standing in the cheerless light of a damp dawn by the ruins of the Ark. I was wet and muddy from head to foot, and at the knee of my trousers there was a jagged rent disclosing a clot of stiffened blood. With indifferent eyes I studied the scar, and endeavored to piece together the events of the night. There had been wine and a lot of trees, a nightmare of trees, and before that there had been a jungle, a hot, moist jungle, and Scarlet lying on my bed. Yes, that was it. I could see her white neck and arms and the curve of her breasts. Hilda had been there too, and gone away. I remembered clearly. She had gone into a sloping land where it was green, but she hadn’t looked back, and now she would never know that I had been watching her from the other end of the tunnel.
I considered the Ark and the idea occurred to me that it would be highly appropriate were I to lie down among the rotten old timbers and become a part of them. At this thought I laughed aloud, but stopped suddenly. I had left Scarlet in the cottage and no doubt she was still there. I would go back to see. If she had not gone I should drive her from the place.
When I was only a short distance from the cottage, I stopped and drew back into the bushes. Like a debauched goddess, Scarlet was making her way across the lawn. What conflicting impulses surged up in my heart as I watched her weary departure through the dawn.
CHAPTER XXVI
THIS MORNING IT is as though Summer had cast across both land and sea a mantle of enchantment. In the flight of a night nature has intensified herself. I gaze with a sensation of sharp delight on scenes which have somehow changed, although they are the same as those I have been looking on for many days, I recognize the things around me — the trees, the grass, and the shrubs — and yet they are all different. Through the deep arteries of the earth one can feel the flooding in of life. There is new loveliness in the world.
The sea looks clean and bright. One would swear that it had been but freshly painted. Like a sparkling surface of electric blue, it arches across the world to a sharp horizon now clear of clouds and mist. One would like to run shouting over that painted floor and become intimate with space. There is a South wind to-day. As it spills over the high cliffs, it leaves behind the fragrance of the flowers it cooled in the woods. The strip of beach below looks neat and clean. Women are down there busy with the nets, and far away, like a colony of tents, the fishing fleet is bending to the wind.
Yet in the midst of all this beauty I feel unclean.
Perhaps that’s the reason for my reawakened appreciation of the world around me. I have withdrawn somewhat and am no longer a part of it. By my own actions I have sacrificed the right to claim kinship with the things I love. Even the trees must resent the humble caress of my hand. I have receded from the world and all its friendly things.
Well, then, let it go, for this morning a strange thing happened, and for the time being, at least, the world has spun back to its natural orbit.
When it happened I was standing in the abandoned garden at the back of Elliott’s house. From the corner of my eyes I could see the high steps on which I had once sat with Hilda. I tried not to look at them and I tried not to think, but memories kept rising to the surface of my brain like flowers floating on a dark pool and opening their petals to the night.
She had fallen asleep with her head resting on my knee, her neck wearily curved and her arms drooping. Yes, it had been like that, and later I had held her in my arms, and then she had mounted the stairs into the shadows. How intense and romantic I had been in those days, and how ridiculously since then had I been floating through life. But all that was over now. I had come to my senses at last. And yet there had been something real about that night. For an instant we had stood before each other as though stripped of all garments and we had found each other pleasing and infinitely clean. Through our minds we had loved with our bodies, and through our bodies we had loved with our minds... no stars, and the smell of weeds and the moist, heavy air from the marshes... only a moment, then she had gone up the stairs to meet the waiting shadows.
With a low curse I dug my heel into the earth and turned from the steps. Only ten feet away from me a girl — she might have been a woman — was standing in the garden path. I knew her at once to be the servant who had so often watched me from the shadows. Her head was bowed like one listening to the chiming of distant bells. In her attitude there was a suggestion of crumpled humility. She was meagerly clad and appeared to be ill. Her thin fingers twisted and untwisted in helpless agony. I could tell it. My own fingers had worked that way often enough. There was a kinship between our fingers.
“Who are you?” I asked.
When she raised her head there was a familiar light in the eyes that met mine.
“I’m Natty,” she said in a hurried voice. “You don’t remember. Once you told us a story. There was a girl who danced in the moonlight while the deer looked on. I’ve never forgotten. Well, that’s who I am — Natty, the little girl on the beach. My kid brother — don’t you remember?”
