The Brass Bed

4

The next day I had another try at the novel, and this time it went a little better. I got the duchess in and livened things up considerably, and I worked along until sometime between noon and one o’clock, and altogether I must have done a couple thousand words or more. Then I decided I’d better get some food to take to the river fishing, and so I walked down to a grocery store a couple blocks away and bought some bread and beans and coffee and some cornmeal to fry the fish in. A few minutes after I got back to the apartment, the telephone rang in the other room. I went in and answered it, and it was Harvey.

“Hello, old boy,” he said. “This is Harvey.”

“How are you, Harvey?”

“Oh, fine. And you?”

“I’m all right. I just went down to the grocery store and bought some stuff for the fishing.”

“Did you buy the beer?”

“No. I thought we could stop and pick it up on the way.”

“Good. We can do that, all right. I’ll bring the ice chest. I have a very good one, you know. We can also stop on the way and have some ice put in it.”

“What time do you want to leave?”

“Well, that’s actually what I called to tell you. I won’t be able to get away until after five o’clock. Do you consider five o’clock too late?”

“It doesn’t matter, Harvey. Any time you can make it.”

“I’ll probably be at your place about five-thirty. Is that all right?”

“That will be fine, Harvey.”

“That’s settled, then. I made some dough balls after I left you yesterday. I did an exceptionally good job of it this time, if I do say it myself.”

“Good for you.”

“You’ll remember we had trouble with them last time. They wouldn’t stay on the hook.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“They’re excellent this time, though. Springy. You can bounce them just like a God-damn pingpong ball.”

“That’s the way they need to be. Good and springy.”

“They’re very tempting to catfish, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I’ll see you about five-thirty, then.”

“Right. Five-thirty.”

“Goodbye, old boy.”

“Goodbye, Harvey.”

I got my box of fishing stuff out of the closet in the other room and started looking at the trot line to see if it was in good shape, and it seemed to be. Crossing to the window on the other side of the room, I looked down into the side yard and began watching the activities of a red squirrel down there on the grass. Squirrels were plentiful and quite tame on the campus of the college and in the neighborhoods all around, and pretty soon another one came along and joined the one I was watching, and so I started watching both of them. They were lively and quick and seemed to be in high spirits, and I thought that the life of a squirrel must be an unusually good life in spite of being short by our standards. I was aware that I ought to be thinking instead about the goliard and the duchess on the chance that they might bring me in a little money, but I was now reluctant to think about them, the fine inspiration of the morning having passed, and this delinquency was beginning to make me uncomfortable and somewhat depressed when someone knocked on the door. I turned around and said that it was all right to come in, but then I wasn’t so sure that it was all right after all, because it was Jolly who came.

She closed the door and walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed and said, “I walked all the way, and I’m quite hot, and I would like very much to have a drink.”

She was wearing a straw hat with a wide brim and a pale blue dress and pale blue shoes that matched the dress exactly and were apparently made of exactly the same material, except for the parts that were made of leather, and what the material looked like to me was a kind of very fine denim, but it was probably something much better and more expensive.

“All I have is a can of beer,” I said. “It’s a full half-quart that Harvey Griffin left here yesterday.”

“That sounds good,” she said. “I’ll have that.”

I got the beer and took it to her, and she took a long drink from the can.

“It’s quite a long walk,” she said.

“From your house?”

“Yes.”

“About three miles, as a matter of fact. Why didn’t you drive?”

“I just felt that I preferred to walk. You know how it is? Every once in a while you get the feeling that it would be good to take a long walk. It’s very hot, however. I didn’t realize that it was quite so hot. Did you say this is your only can of beer?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like some of it?”

“No, thank you.”

“I feel quite bad about drinking your only can.”

“It’s all right. I had a can with my lunch.”

“Have you had lunch, then? What did you have?”

“A sandwich. I fixed it here.”

“That’s no kind of lunch. It’s apparent to me that you are not eating properly. You are much too thin.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Of course I worry about it. It is natural for a woman to worry about someone she loves.”

“Please don’t start that again.”

“About my loving you? Why not?”

“Because it’s no good. It doesn’t get us anywhere.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, about its not getting us anywhere, and I’m exceedingly unhappy about it.”

“Are you really? So am I, I confess, but that doesn’t seem to get us anywhere, either.”

“It’s very difficult, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. It is certainly difficult.”

“Are you wondering why I’ve come?”

“Naturally.”

“I’ve come because I couldn’t stay away. I tried and I tried, but I couldn’t.”

“Your black eye is a little better today,” I said. “It is still beautiful, but not quite so striking as yesterday.”

“It’s the makeup. You can do wonders with such things with the proper makeup. Does it mean anything to you that I simply couldn’t stay away?”

“How is Kirby?” I said. “Did he hit Fran in the eye after I left?”

“He didn’t say he was going to hit her in the eye. He said he was going to spank her butt. I think Fran stayed around just in the hope that he actually would. Fran enjoys the most peculiar things. Are you happy that I’m here?”

“I thought he was sure enough going to clobber old Sid,” I said, “and I can’t say that I’d have blamed him if he had.”

“Sid is noble. Did you notice how angry he was because Kirby blacked my eye? He is much nobler than you.”

“I concede that. I am hardly noble at all.”

“Would you like to kiss me? I am most willing to have you kiss me.”

“Sometimes, between the times I’m hating him, I feel a great deal of sympathy for Kirby,” I said.

She took another swallow of the beer and stared sadly at the can. She didn’t say anything and kept looking at the can, and after a minute I saw that she was quietly crying, the tears moving slowly and without sound down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“All right. I can see that you are determined to avoid the subject.”

“Please don’t cry.”

“I’ll be finished soon. I seldom cry for very long at a time.”

I stood watching her wishing that I could kiss her safely without consequences or ramifications, which was something that would not have been possible to me, and it was my opinion, held strongly and with pain, that she was earth’s most tempting woman in a way that was peculiarly her own, and that she was the one I would want so long as I lived, and never, never another. She finished with the crying and drank some more of the beer and saw at that moment the tackle box on the floor by the closet.

“What’s that?” she said.

“It’s a tackle box.”

“Fishing tackle?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going fishing?”

“Yes. I’m going with Harvey Griffin. He’s coming by for me about five-thirty. We’re going to the river.”

“Will you be gone long?”

“Until Sunday.”

“Where on the river are you going?”

“Why do you want to know?” I asked her warily.

“I just like to know where you are and what you are doing. Whenever it’s possible, anyhow. When I know these things I am able to see you clearly in my mind, and it is a pleasure to me.”

“We’re going to a place about a mile north of the bridge,” I said. “You drive out the highway to the bridge and turn north on a narrow dirt road at the far end. It’s hardly more than a couple of tire tracks in the grass, and it leads to this old cabin where we always go. We don’t sleep in the cabin, however. It’s very run down, and the floor is broken through in two or three places. We sleep outside.”

She hesitated. “I wish I could go with you.”

“It would be impossible.”

“It would be fun to go and stay with you. I would enjoy it greatly.”

“It would be fun, but it’s impossible,” I said gently but firmly.

“I know. Kirby would wonder where I’d gone off to, of course.”

“That’s not the only reason.”

“You are very moral, darling. Do you know that you are sometimes almost depressingly moral?”

“Sure. I’m depressingly moral, and you are depressingly contradictory.”

“Are they independent, do you think? Can one be moral and not contradictory, and the other way around?”

“It seems that one can.”

Her face brightened. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it? That’s a very interesting idea. I don’t know why it never occurred to me before.”

She took off her wide straw hat and leaned over and placed the hat and the beer can on the floor and then lay back across the bed.

“Will you come and sit beside me?” she said.

“I don’t think I’d better.”

“Are you afraid of what might happen?”

“No. I’m afraid of what would almost certainly happen.”

“If you will come sit beside me, I will tell you an idea that I have. It’s an idea of how we might get somewhere.”

I went over and sat down on the edge of the bed, and she reached down along her side and took hold of my hand.

“It’s quite awkward looking at you from this position. Perhaps it would be better if you were to lie down too.”

“Perhaps it would be better if you were to sit up.”

“I have had a long walk here, and it is an equally long walk home again, and it is necessary that I rest for it.”

“I’ll be glad to drive you home.”

“No. I walked here alone, and I insist on going back the same way. It is satisfying to be independent, I find. If you will lie down beside me, I promise to behave. We will lie here and hold hands and feel a communion of spirits.”

“All right,” I said, “since you agree to keep it spiritual.”

I lay back beside her, and we held hands between us, and there was really something spiritual in it, some kind of communion or something, but there was something else there too, and it was this something else that I had to be careful about. Once I had not been careful about it, and the result had been fulfilling but unfortunate. We lay there for a long time without speaking, and it was warm in the room in spite of a slight breeze that came in through the open window, and I could hear outside the occasional chattering of the high-spirited squirrels against the soft, sleepy total of summer sounds. Eventually I turned my head and looked at her to see if she was asleep, but she was lying with her eyes wide open staring up at the ceiling, and I could see on her cheeks below her eyes the faint stain of her tears.

“What was the idea?” I said. “The one that might get us somewhere.”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “That one. Kirby is going away next month. The third week. He is going away on some kind of business, and I had the idea that you and I might go away too.”

“So simply? Just go away?”

“I thought we might go to a lake or a nice river or somewhere like that and stay in a quiet hotel or a cabin or something, and we could swim and dance and loaf around together, and best of all would be seeing each other the last thing at night and the first thing in the morning. Do you think that would be exciting?”

“Yes, I think it would be wonderfully exciting.”

“Will you go with me, then?”

“Are you serious?” I had an impulse to sit up.

“Oh, yes. I am perfectly serious.”

“But you can see, of course, that we can’t go.”

“No, I can’t see at all that we can’t go. Why can’t we?”

“Perhaps it would be better if I didn’t try to explain it. You are quite difficult to explain things to.”

“It seems to me that just the contrary is true. It seems to me that you are the difficult one. You say we don’t get anywhere, and I suggest a perfectly reasonable way to get somewhere, and now you don’t want to go. As I see it, that’s a very difficult attitude to understand.”

“You see things in a rather peculiar way, Jolly. Do you mind my saying that?”

“I don’t mind your saying it, but I don’t understand it. I seem to me to be reasonable.” Her tone suggested slight injury.

“I’m sure you do. I’m positive that you seem reasonable to you.”

“In what way am I unreasonable?” she wanted to know.

“Well, you are quite ready to have an affair, for instance, but a divorce is unthinkable.”

“Yes, it is. It is absolutely unthinkable. I explained carefully that Kirby would never agree to a divorce. It’s contrary to his principles — and also his vanity.”

“You could get a divorce whether he agreed to it or not.”

“I have also explained that it is contrary to my principles as well as his.”

“But adultery is not.”

“That’s different because I love you. Love purifies things.”

“Why couldn’t love purify a divorce?”

“Divorce is another matter altogether. Surely you can see that.”

“No, I can’t. I can’t see it at all.”

“That’s because you aren’t principled. You will have to take my word that it is another matter altogether.”

“All right. I take your word for it. And now I would like to start all over forgetting about it, and I would appreciate it if you would go home, or at least somewhere else.”

“Would you like to kiss me now?” she asked.

“I’d like to, but I won’t.”

She said, “Won’t you try to understand about the divorce?”

“Do you want to know what I really think about the divorce?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You won’t like it,” I warned.

“Nevertheless I would like to know.”

“I think the real reason you won’t get it is because Kirby is lousy with money, while I am not.”

“Really? Do you really think that?”

“That’s what I think.”

“That this business of principles is merely a kind of rationalization or something?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s possible that you may be right. I’m actually quite a greedy person, and you are almost terrifyingly poor. You’ll have to admit that.”

“I will indeed. I admit it.”

“Do you think there is the remotest chance that you might come into quite a lot of money pretty soon?”

“I can’t see any.”

“How about the goliard? Do you think he might earn you a lot?”

“I doubt it very much. I doubt that he ever earns me any at all.”

“That’s unfortunate. Now that you’ve clarified the point, I’m certain that I could bring myself to accept the divorce if you were only quite a lot richer.”

“I apologize for my poverty.” I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

She cleared her throat. “I should also mention that Kirby, despite his other faults, is a very reverent person, and divorce is contrary to his religious beliefs.”

I didn’t say anything.

“You believe me, don’t you?” she asked wistfully.

I shrugged.

She raised herself up onto one elbow and twisted her body and looked down at me. I wanted at once to reach up and take hold of her, and so I shut my eyes to elude the temptation.

“Do you really want me to leave?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you still refuse to kiss me?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, do you mind if I kiss you?”

“You may do as you like about it.”

She kissed me then, and her lips were soft and sweet and leisurely. After the kiss, she got off the bed, and I continued to lie for a minute with my eyes closed. When I opened them, she had put on her hat and moved to the door and was standing there looking back at me.

“Will you reconsider going somewhere with me?” she said.

“I hope not.”

“Then I don’t suppose there is much use in our seeing each other again, is there?”

“I don’t suppose so.”

“Between the impossible divorce and your depressing attitude, it seems that we have absolutely nothing to accomplish.”

“That seems to be the case.”

She looked down at the floor.

“If only he were to die,” she said.

“Don’t say that,” I said. “You said it yesterday, and I wish you wouldn’t say it again.”

She looked up at me and then beyond me to the open window through which came the faint chattering of the squirrels.

“There is an odd thing about Kirby that has been put into my mind by the fact that you are going fishing,” she said. “In spite of his being very athletic and everything, he can’t swim a stroke. In fact, he is quite afraid of water.”

I thought that it was surely part of the death-wish, perhaps an oblique reference to a technique for murder, and it was very strange to lie there in the hot room filled with soft and common sounds and consider this uncommon probability. But then I looked at her sad and lovely face with the eyes still soft from recent tears, and it was no longer a tenable probability, or even possibility, and I was ashamed and sickened and wanted to ask her to forgive me, but I couldn’t.

After a while, she sighed and said, “Well, thank you very much for the beer.”

“Not at all,” I said. “I hope you enjoyed both the beer and the spiritual communion.”

The sadness was in her face, but she was not going to cry again. She went out and closed the door behind her, and I kept lying there across the bed after she was gone, and pretty soon I remembered that I had promised to tell her hello for Harvey and had forgotten to do it.