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diff --git a/old/64251-0.txt b/old/64251-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 367330f..0000000 --- a/old/64251-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11817 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of This Finer Shadow, by Harlan Cozad McIntosh - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: This Finer Shadow - -Author: Harlan Cozad McIntosh - -Release Date: January 11, 2021 [eBook #64251] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Emmanuel Ackerman, Curt Troutwine and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THIS FINER SHADOW *** - - - - - -_THIS FINER SHADOW_ - - - - - This - Finer Shadow - - _by_ - Harlan Cozad McIntosh - - _Introduction by_ - John Cowper Powys - - [Illustration] - - THE DIAL PRESS - NEW YORK · 1941 - - COPYRIGHT, 1941 BY - JANE McINTOSH - - Designed by Peter Döblin - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - BY THE HADDON CRAFTSMEN, INC., - CAMDEN, N. J. - - - - -_For Jane_ - - - - -_INTRODUCTION_ - - -It is not always an unmixed advantage to an elderly critic of literature -to be recognized as one of the Old School who is interested in extremely -modern and daring young writers. But in the case of Harlan Cozad McIntosh -this reputation of mine has won me the greatest and proudest pleasure a -critic can have—the thrill of being among the first to announce: “Here, -anyway, is genius!” - -For from start to finish this extraordinary story holds you under a -spell—that is to say, if you are, as I am, an obsessed devotee of the -dangerous mole-runs of beautiful and desperate human aberration. I have -no hesitation in saying that the character “Mr. Roberts” of this book is -a masterpiece of portraiture, and an almost flawless presentation of one -of those abnormal types of men whose subterranean and half-suppressed -feelings lead to more tragedies than the ordinary reader of pathological -fiction would believe possible. - -But daring and terrifying as Mr. McIntosh’s psychological flashes of -insight are, they by no means cover the whole field of interest in this -strange, and indeed I may boldly say, this unique book. There are -passages of the most exquisite beauty, beauty of that rare, intense, -evasive sort which, as the poet says, is like the lightning—vanished ere -you can say “It lightens!” There is, indeed, in these poetic passages, so -swift, so sudden, so startling a beauty that it sweeps the reader away, -causing him to feel for a quick beat of time, as if he _were_ the author! - -Nothing could be further from a doctrinaire treatise on “the psychology -of the abnormal” than this book. It is an exciting love story of the most -healthy, natural and child-like simplicity; and that it is shot through -and through by the purple threads of abnormal pity and terror enhances -rather than lessens the tender freshness of this ancient theme. - -The book is a terrible tragedy, and one that certainly in the fullest -classical sense _purges our passions_; but tragic though it is, it is -the extreme opposite of anything dispirited, dejected, disheartened or -disillusioned. A fine, pure, fierce detachment from anything cloying, -from anything voluptuously soft and sentimental, characterizes this -“ill-starred” and yet so proudly “well-starred” young writer. The soul -of the hero, obviously a reflection of the author himself, moves through -these weird circles and ambiguous scenes, protected like Milton’s lady -in _Comus_, by the invisible guardians of a most unusual and indeed -almost unearthly chastity. The moral of it all—if moral you want, and -I am myself old-fashioned enough _always_ to want exactly that—is no -other than what we learn from Goethe as well as from Milton: namely that -_nothing_, however fascinating in its provocative phosphorescence, can -really contaminate a soul “that has an instinct of the one true way.” - -Men and women who make the pathetic mistake of thinking themselves what -is called “normal” ought all to read this tragic tale, so that they -shall be _shamed_, not only into human sympathy, but into philosophical -insight; whereas those of us who make no such claim, and are confessedly -engaged in the hard struggle to get ourselves into order, will find in -Harlan McIntosh’s book just what we have been seeking in vain: a stark, -authentic, unmitigated rendering of what it is like _really to be_ -what these complacently detached investigators analyze from so safe a -distance! For myself, since I learnt about M. de Charlus in Proust, I -haven’t been so helped in my understanding of these strange matters as -when destiny gave me the opportunity of passing my blind fingers—for we -are all blind in these cases—over the mobile features of Mr. McIntosh’s -extraordinary creations. - - JOHN COWPER POWYS - - - - -_THIS FINER SHADOW_ - - - - -_CHAPTER I_ - - -The sea’s reaches moved blue and green from the western horizon to the -Haitian coast. The small ship _Verda_ disturbed the roll of water. - -Martin gave the ship a little right wheel and she had her course, -breaking the current. An offshore wind brought the jungle to him. He -closed his eyes and felt its movement—the overcries of birds, animal musk -and the heavy heat of clouds. There, facing the sun, lay a swan’s feather -of beach shining up to the darker ridges. Oceanward, the sea bent into -the brightest corner. - -It was after supper. He knew the sailors were lounging on the poopdeck. -Rio, naked to the waist, handsome, with his broken chest and heavy -shoulders, would be telling the younger seamen of One Beer Annie and her -electric finger. Martin looked at the clock and at the compass. He struck -three bells and stepped away as his relief entered the wheelhouse. - -“Thirty-two,” said Martin. - -“Thirty-two,” repeated the quartermaster. - -“Steering thirty-two,” called Martin to the mate on the bridge. - -The officer nodded his head. - -Later, on lookout, Martin leaned against the ship’s apron and watched the -sky ring blue to blue. On the coastal side the bright wing faded under -the hills. Seaward, the sun pressed into mist—sustained by color. He -shaded his eyes against the shrill line, saw it strike the water, burn -and recede. Catching the rim, it held once and fell, breathing up softer -lights. Flame, gold and scarlet in procession shifted to turquoise and a -rolling mauve—slowly turning the crystal till darkness caught one star. - -The distant light trembled in his eyes. He crossed the deck and faced -the shore. An aluminum crust broke the dark shoulder of mountain, rising -higher till its bright shale covered the swing of beach with moontide. -Burning from the painting ran the moonspindle, striking the ship. Martin -dropped his head and stared into the blue foam. - -Above him, Orion swung easily past the foremast and returned; Polaris -grew in the north; and behind him, the Southern Cross lay on her side. He -grabbed the mainstay, pulled himself up on the apron and lay on his back. -His eyes followed the moon as she came toward him, changing softly from -flesh to white, round and white like the abdomen of a woman. - -Silence, dead and liquid, held the _Verda_ from both sky and sea. A -restless mist, moving downward, obscured the stars. On the land side -heat-lightning followed in sheaves. A thin black cloud raised the -horizon. It built higher and darker as it rushed at the ship. - -Martin pulled off his skivy-shirt. The heat covered his face with -perspiration and he drew his arm across his forehead. Isolated on the -fo’c’sle head, away from the ship and its crew, there was no proportion. -The wind dried his throat and he bent under the apron to breathe, closing -his eyes against the lightning. A wave smashed on the bow and sounded -through the forepeak. He ducked lower under the steel cover and rubbed -the salt from his mouth. The rain struck. Falling solidly, it hammered -his back and shoulders until, at last, to ease the pain, he turned his -side against the pressure. When he looked aft he knew that he was blind, -seeing neither mast nor running-lights. Living in this vacuum of noise, -without sight, he knelt on the deck with his head in his arms and tried -to breathe through the falling water. Still and bowed he waited. - -Abruptly the wind stopped, and the rain. He looked up and saw the -retreating clouds uncovering stars behind him. The moon shone more -brightly. The scent of the jungle was deeper and the man with the sword -in the sky smiled as he swung past the mast. Martin stripped off his -dungarees and wrung the water from them. The stiffening cloth was still -moist when he pulled them on again. - -He was surprised toward the latter part of his watch by a heavy, amused -voice. - -“Get your end wet?” - -He saw Rio smiling at him. - -“I did,” he replied gravely. - -Rio slapped his hands together. - -“Why’d you go to sea?” - -Martin rubbed his chin and looked away. - -“I’m getting along,” he answered. - -Rio leaned on the rail beside him. - -“A woman’s place is in the home.” - -Martin felt himself beset by an out-of-time capriciousness. Yet he knew -these words, so like the emptying of a fool’s wounds, were no more idle -than the turn of water and wind and all their purposes, though whistled -through a child’s melody. He knew also that certain eccentricities of -men, of winds, of waters, must be directed and employed; therefore, -without looking at his friend, he spoke to him. - -“The boundaries of the home have been extended. The boundaries of your -mind are arbitrary.” - -“That serves me up, I guess.” Rio yawned. “But you ain’t no seaman.” - -Martin sighted over the rail. - -“Scorpio’s tail light is out.” - -Rio, persistent, glanced at him sideways. - -“You ain’t happy here, and I am.” He breathed the hot, moist wind and -looked at the moon and the quiet length under it. “I’m happy. This is the -kind of night I live for. It’s clean and hot. It burns the yellow out of -your blood. Some day,” he nodded toward the island fading behind them, -“I’m goin’ to get a little shack over there with a shakedown roof, and -maybe a small stove.” - -“So you’re happy,” answered Martin. “Happy!” he repeated in a louder -voice. “That word doesn’t belong on this deck.” - -Rio grinned. - -“You’re a Christian, then.” - -Martin stepped closer to him. - -“I believe I am.” - -The lights of a ship came up on the port bow. Martin crossed the deck and -struck two bells. When he returned he spoke abstractedly. - -“I’d like to find a quiet beach myself. A beach that walks with you in -the daytime and sings with you at night.... A place to rest.... But I -can’t rest.” - -Rio became confused. He put his hands on Martin’s shoulders and for -a second they stood motionless, like mildewed lovers in a gloom -proportionately obscure. Then Rio whispered, “I’ll do my bit, my friend. -I’ll take your last illusion.” - -Martin saw the fluid, hurt eyes and the bitter smile. He struck Rio’s -arms from his shoulders. - -“How do you know that I still possess this ‘last illusion?’ ... Why do -you follow me?... You call for the water and the heat. You’re part of the -land we passed and of your buccaneering ancestors. That doesn’t include -me. I’m a foreigner.” - -Rio looked at him with hatred. - -“Meanin’, my fine lad, I ain’t part of you? Well, maybe I ain’t.” He -brought one fist down on the rail, then pointed at the water. “Christ, -you’re wrong about it all, though. You ain’t no sailor—but you _are_ the -‘part of.’ I’m the foreigner. My father buccaneered from the pulpit. -A hard-shell, hell-fire Baptist, he cheapened a pirate’s trade with -pennies out of a palm leaf.... I remember him well; a dirty man from the -west, with green eyes and a thin beard. He showed me your English and -your habits and shouted his bad theology. And all the time, my native -mother, with the sound of the beach for religion, stared at him——” -He turned clumsily, more like an anthropoid than a man. “I don’t get -myself, Martin. Maybe I’m starved. It’s been a long time. I’ve lived in a -monastery since a brown girl——” - -“I hear every word,” said Martin. “I hear ‘monastery,’ ‘brown girl,’ -‘pirate’—but I can’t put them together. I can’t think logically. They’re -disconnected pictures.” - -“Keep your pictures.” Rio moved closer. “I said I’m crazy to-night.” - -Now Martin could see an intentional grace, eager and sharp. - -“Hold your Baptist’s head then, Rio. That’s not for us.” Martin’s waist -was slim in the moonlight. He knew the night was wrong—something to fight -or there would be a mistake. He turned away. “It’s nearly eight bells, -Rio, and the squarehead relieves me too fast.” - -Rio held his fist against the moon. His face seemed breaking. - -“You ain’t right, Martin, but you make me think you are.” - -He climbed down the ladder, walked across the foredeck and aft to his -bunk. He took his bath in a bucket, put on clean skivies, turned in and -tried to sleep. - -On lookout, Martin watched dew form on the steel rail and rubbed his -hand across it. The sun had burned his hair lighter than his skin; and -as the moist wind pushed it from his temples, a smile, restrained by the -unfathomable hurt of one who, for escape, has taken to the sea, formed -on his lips. That he could dream well could be told by the changing -color of his eyes according to that which was about him; and by the -fact or the illusion that he saw great distances or none at all. His -conversation with Rio had been a short but a disturbing one. At the -climactic moment it had seemed obvious. Not now; and deliberately Martin -turned his thoughts to the ocean. His union with the ship and all that -was about him was brief and precisioned. Perhaps it was his quietness -or perhaps a quality in the sky; but his silent figure was adjusted in -the small cosmos. His eyes, indecisive of both moon and ocean, had found -the properties of each. Thus, filled with iron and dull gold, he wore -the uniform and restlessness of the tides and knew that although his own -desire had been encompassed, it had not been lost. He pressed against the -rail, his arms braced, his bronze hair damp against the deeper bronze -of his skin. Through the clarity of a sudden, stern compassion, he swung -around to where Rio had stood. In the recurring consciousness of the -presence of his friend, he drew the solemn colors about them. Against his -feet the steel plates trembled with the ship’s engines. The wind changed. -A thousand mirrors broke under the high moon. - - - - -_CHAPTER II_ - - -Martin looked around the fo’c’sle, swung open the locker door to see if -he had packed all his gear and looked under the blankets on his bunk. - -“So long, boys,” he said. “I’m shoving off.” - -The seamen at the card table and those lying in their bunks glanced up -from newspapers and cigarettes. - -“So long, Mart—So long. Take it easy.” - -He pulled his duffel-bag over his shoulder and walked up the ladder to -the afterdeck. Languorous winds and the dark waters of streaming nights -lurked in the corners of the bulkheads. Yet the knowledge of his late -intimacy with these secrets had no quality of nostalgia for him. He was -surprised at the indifference he felt on leaving the ship, all the more -so because he had no reason for this coldness. - -The chief mate saw him standing by the rail. He had often wondered about -Martin—that strange sailor who had gone about his duties so quietly. -That was part of it. He was so damned quiet. No wonder the other sailors -hadn’t liked that. He did his work well and was the best helmsman on -the ship; but off watch, he had the air of a man looking for the -unnecessary. He avoided the sailors with such instinctive thoroughness -that it was obvious even to them that he intended no offense. It was -more, thought the mate, as if he seemed to be thinking a great deal and -never getting anywhere with it. Frequently, on sultry nights, when the -mate couldn’t sleep and had taken a turn around the ’midship deck, he’d -seen Martin sitting alone on the afterhatch looking at the sky. The -officer had a few books on psychology which he read instead of fiction; -and therefore felt himself pretty well up on the distressed mind. He -was a kind-hearted man, and one night he’d called Martin into his cabin -to “sort of decide what made him tick,” as he said afterwards. What was -it Martin had said?... Something about the sea being a fine girl for -a man, or some such rot; and said quite pleasantly. And when the mate -had pulled him round to psychology, Martin had agreed with him that it -was a nice vehicle for a malingering neurasthenic.... No—damn it!—the -fellow had said that first, himself! It was easy to see the chap had read -a bit. He addressed the mate’s most ponderous terms with earnestness; -but always he’d wound up in a theoretical mess that half sounded like a -laugh. Still, one couldn’t get upset over something that wasn’t there; -and certainly there was no laughter in Martin’s expression. The mate -was sure of it. It was a damned odd feeling though, to have him sitting -there looking at you patiently with that peculiar, absent manner. He’d -told Martin that it was best for the sailors to get along together and -to yarn a bit and get things off their chests. And then the queerest -thing happened. Martin had told him that good-fellowship was not only -essential, but unavoidable; and from there on, he’d continued to speak in -English; only what he was saying didn’t make sense. It was like dumping -words into a pot and shoveling them around with your finger. By God!—it -was a strange feeling listening to that! And then Martin had gone.... -Just the same, when the mate saw him with his duffel-bag beside him, -looking out at the bulk of the city, it made him feel funny—sort of -lonely for him. And he went over. - -“New York in the winter is no place for a sailor, Martin, and you’re -paying off with very little.” - -“I know.” He leaned toward the officer and spoke in a low voice. “I know. -But there’s something important to be found out, Mister. Important to -myself, yes—and to you, and perhaps to more than both of us.” He pointed -beyond the warehouses to the pinnacles of the city. “That old line won’t -stay. But there’s a basic pattern under it that will remain. That ought -to be known. Damn it, Mister, I won’t find it nor, perhaps, my son, but -if we keep looking—” He picked up his bag. - -Infinitely puzzled, the mate looked after him. - -“That’s that,” he said to himself. - -Martin went down the gangplank and, without turning, started for the -city. He took the elevated to Chatham Square where he got off and asked -a policeman for an address. The shock of change from the cleanliness and -solitude of the ocean to this polyglot of grime and faces was physical; -and he tightened up his nerves as though preparing for an explosion. -A few minutes later he walked into Relief Headquarters, a rusty, -high-walled building in the center of the Bowery. Policemen watched the -group of applicants carefully. There were two lines of men, one set apart -for seamen. Martin joined this group, noticing how strangely the sailors, -tanned, alert and swaggering, contrasted with the white-faced, hopeless -habitués. When his turn came a clerk, tired, frowning, looked up from his -desk. - -“Name?” - -“Devaud.” - -“De what?” - -“Devaud,” answered Martin. “Vaud, as in vaudeville.” - -“Age?” - -“Twenty-eight.” - -“Go to that desk.” Aside, the man called to a case-worker. “Mr. Stein, -here’s another for you.” - -Martin went over and stood patiently in front of Mr. Stein who was -fumbling with some papers. Stein had short-cropped gray hair which grew -halfway down his forehead. It made Martin think of a Polynesian thatched -hut. Stein’s chin sloped backward so abruptly that he appeared more like -a primitive man than one of the present. Only his fat lips and stomach -were mellowed and sweetened by whisky and a rapidly departing youth. - -“Sit down,” he said. Then, smiling so that he showed a large area -of widely separated teeth, he slowly drew in his smile and ended by -regarding Martin almost beseechingly. “Sit down,” he said again, folding -his hands over his fat stomach. “We like to understand, to get closer to -our more unfortunate brothers. We are here to help you adjust yourself. -We hope to provide you with every facility for rehabilitation.” - -Martin felt a momentary irritation. - -“Rehabilitation from what?” he asked, wondering what this empiric -monstrosity was conspiring. - -“Rehabilitation from—” Stein hesitated. He looked at Martin’s dungarees. -“Are you planning on returning to the sea?” - -“No.” - -The case-worker took his pencil. - -“I’m sure we can help you.” He smiled again and nodded encouragingly. “It -will be all right. Just sketch your history briefly.” He slipped back -into his chair, setting the flat convolutions of his brain at a receptive -curve. - -Martin reflected on his “history.” The walls of this dirty place fell -apart and memories came up in a flood.... His father—a story of the -one professor, deathless in his circumference of knowledge; a man -affectionate, yet untenable within the world, struck close in the -mystery of his students; humble with his virtues, out of cognizance, -and strong in the strength of those he guided, he lived apart and yet -among the compasses of his direction.... His mother, carrying an exotic, -foreign beauty into time as though indignant with maturities.... His -white child-wife, her white child-fingers screaming on the piano against -his inevitable demands.... Her death.... Then ships and oceans and the -lust of palms.... - -“Your history!” Stein’s sharp voice, bringing back the sharper walls and -the honesty of where he was, demanded laughter. And Martin laughed until -each memory was dead. - -“My history?” he asked, wiping his eyes. “You wouldn’t like my history. -It isn’t interesting enough. Case-historians would starve to death with -me.” - -Mr. Stein sat up straight. He frowned and looked at his hands. - -“Very amusing.” He filled two forms rapidly. “This,” he said, handing -Martin one of them, “provides you with a hotel room for the duration of -two weeks. And this,” he continued, “allows you meal tickets at any of -our restaurants to the value of forty cents per day for the same length -of time.” - -Outside, Martin shook his head to free it from the mustiness of dismissed -progressions and the impurity of this newer living. He glanced at one of -the tickets. “HOTEL PINE LEAF, RESERVED ESPECIALLY FOR SEAMEN,” he read. -As he walked on toward the hotel he was stopped twice for a cigarette. -One heavy-jawed fellow tried to strike up a conversation and offered to -help him with his bag, all the time walking uncomfortably close to him. -Martin shook his head and the man dropped behind, muttering. - -The lobby of the Pine Leaf was one floor up. A man seated in one of the -chairs which lined the walls, was snoring loudly. “He must be sick,” -thought Martin, for no one disturbed him. Martin leaned his bag near the -desk and as he did so, a bull-necked sailor, his collar open, ran at him. - -“Good God!” said the man. “We’ve grounded. Damn you, Captain! Keep her in -the channel.” He held his fist menacingly. - -“All right,” said Martin, stopping stock-still. “And now, look to your -engines.” - -The clerk behind the wire netting regarded them worriedly. - -“Go back to your cabin, Danny,” he said. “We’ve taken on the pilot.” - -Danny, shaking all over, looked once more at Martin and returned to his -chair. - -Martin handed his slip to the clerk who turned it nervously in his hand. - -“Danny’s all right,” he said. “Liquor took his ticket. He never jumped -like that before, though. Kind of look out, will you?” - -“He didn’t mean anything.” Martin smiled reassuringly. “I jumped like -that once myself.” He took his key and towel, packed his canvas up three -flights of stairs and walked down the corridor to his room. It was a -narrow, cell-like cubicle, furnished with a cot and a small locker. There -was no light and the tiny window, high in the wall, admitted only a few -indirect rays of sunshine. Martin sorted his gear, found his razor and -went into the washroom. - -Three men were huddled in a corner. As Martin lathered his face he looked -in their direction and saw that they had a bottle of rubbing alcohol -which they were diluting with warm water. After a good deal of grunting -and shaking and laughing they held it to the light. - -“Looks to me like Tri Gin,” said one whose hands shook violently. - -“Looks to me like smoke,” said another, laughing and turning to Martin. -“Have some smoke, Jack?” he asked. - -Martin shook his head. - -“Ulcers,” he said, pointing to his stomach, and started shaving. - -The men shook their heads sympathetically. This, they understood. They -were dancing to the clapping of hands when Martin left. - -In the low glim of his room he changed his shirt. He was about to lock -his door when a lad ran frantically down the narrow hall, bumping into -him. Martin held the boy coldly. - -“Hide me,” sobbed the lad. “It’s Danny. He’s had smoke—” the sobs -continued. “Danny thinks ... for Christ’s sake!—hide me!” - -Martin shoved the boy inside his little room and closed the door, then -took a cigarette from his pocket. A moment later, Danny put his head -around the shadowy corner and walked slowly toward him. When he was -closer, Martin struck a match and lit his cigarette abstractedly. - -“Where is he?” asked Danny in a hard whisper. “Where’s my little galley -rat?” - -“Speak American, buddy,” said Martin. “This is an American vessel—not a -Limey.” - -“Don’t lie to me, you damned school-ship!” cried Danny, coming forward. -“Where is he?” - -Martin sighed resignedly. - -“He’s here, Danny—under my shirt. Come get him.” - -“Ah! That’s better. I’m coming, friend.” - -He walked up close to Martin who dropped his cigarette. Danny shot out -his right hand and grabbed Martin’s shoulder; but feeling the broad, -tensed muscle, he became suddenly quiet and stood for a long time running -his hand up and down Martin’s arm. At last, he started to cry gently. -Then, and only then, did Martin throw his arm about him and whisper all -the lonely, desperate things that sailors know; until willingly, Danny -let himself be led into his own room. Martin got down on his knees and -took off Danny’s shoes. He covered him with a blanket, looked at him once -to be sure he was sleeping and tiptoed out. - -When he got back to his own room the boy was gone. So were his small -camera and his pea-jacket. - -He went out into the street and walked along until he saw a beer sign. He -stood at the rail and kicked the sawdust angrily, thinking of his camera. -As he took his glass he caught his reflection in the large mirror above -the bar and burst out laughing; for his head seemingly rested between the -enormous breasts of a nude which had been painted on the wall behind him. -Amazed at this unsuspected liaison, he turned to regard with favor the -immense mural. The lady reclined, supine and indifferent to the ardent -glances of the drunken men about her. Her bottom rested on a couch of -lurid green and one arm, disproportionate, held aloft a wreath of garden -spray and roses. - -Martin was still laughing when a little white-haired man with a thick -nose and red eyes walked over to him. - -“Ahoy, sailor,” said the little fellow, and blew two sharp notes between -his teeth. “Ship ahoy!” - -“Ship ahoy,” said Martin. - -The little man giggled. - -“I like you, mate.” He held out his hand, his eyes watering happily. “I’m -a sailor, and my name’s Old Crackin. When my old lady’s sick—when she’s -havin’ babies—_I_ don’t take no tea for the fever. _I_ don’t wait.” - -He turned and pointed to the mural. “I git mine from _her_.” His eyes -dimmed in affection as he stared at the naked lady. Then he smiled again -at Martin. “I can spell too, mate,” he added proudly. - -“Spell CAT,” said Martin. - -“K-R-Double T,” said the old seaman, an ecstatic glow on his face. - -“That’s right,” observed Martin, in a tone of approbation. “Can you spell -DOG?” - -“Sure I can!” Old Crackin answered promptly, looking as if he could -scarcely contain himself for joy. “G-R-Double D,” he recited, and held -out his hand once more. - -Martin saw the running sores between the old sailor’s fingers. He smiled -at him, called the bartender, asked for a beer and paid for it. - -“Drink up,” he said and left. - -The little man looked at his beer and drank it slowly, bitterness and -necessity in his expression. - -The nearest Relief restaurant was at the far end of the Bowery. Martin -walked along, sticking to the edge of the sidewalk, glad that his -dungarees were clean. The horizons of the sea outlined the figures of the -people about him. They moved down the street, slack-mouthed, too tired -to be desperate. Martin saw them as an old river, full of eddies and -currents—muddy, yet retaining the purity of utter despondency. - -In a doorway, out of the late afternoon sun, a man lay sleeping as -though drugged. And at one corner three men were drinking openly from a -bottle while a policeman passed them without interest. A long-haired, -wild-eyed fanatic, his shirtfront covered with dark stains, addressed an -amused group of loafers on their sins, vividly painting the atrocious -hells that awaited them, and turning only to spit at the passing cars. -Whenever there was a momentary lull of traffic he would spit on his own -thin coat-tails in his excess of hatred. This brought the most hilarious -laughter from the crowd. A thick-set drunken woman with one stocking -dragging the pavement brought the preacher’s fury to such a height that -he rushed at her, his mouth wide open. She swung at him sluggishly, -missing his chin by a narrow margin; whereupon he ran around her in -ever-widening circles as she continued her forward movement in dignified -arabesques. - -Martin walked on more slowly, attempting to find a stronger sedative with -each horror he passed. A man lay stretched across the sidewalk. His mouth -was bleeding, his trousers were open and a slow trickle of urine ran -down to the curb. The crowd, apparently oblivious, walked around him and -continued down the street. In his rising emotion, Martin nearly stopped. -He wanted to cover and protect the man—wanted to carry him to some safe -doorstep. But his hesitation was brief; for he knew that this was the -accustomed vagary in a clouded, forgotten street—knew that he would be -jailed or put to trial as a mischief-maker or a madman if he tried to -block the immutable routine of such a land. And so he went on to the -restaurant with his heart completely hypnotized because, alive, it could -not bear the awareness of such a state. - -Noise and confusion were in the cafeteria. A line of men moved slowly -past the counter, carrying their trays and pointing to the food they -wanted. - -Martin picked up a tray, shook off the greasy drops and looked at the -signs. They read: - - BREAST OF LAMB! FIFTEEN CENTS. - HAM AND BEANS! FIFTEEN CENTS. - EGG! FIVE CENTS. - -“Ham and beans!” he shouted against the noise of rattling plates and cups. - -The boy behind the counter ladled out a large plate of beans, dropping a -slice of boiled ham upon them. - -“Milk,” yelled Martin. - -He carried his tray to a vacancy on the long, marble-slabbed table. - -An old man, bent, unshaven, was scavenging the plates for food that -others had left. Martin reached in his pocket for a meal ticket. A boy -sitting nearby pulled at his elbow to stop him. - -“Don’t be a sucker,” he said. “It’s the old guy’s racket.” - -Martin handed the ticket to the old man. He felt irritable as he sat down -next to the boy. - -“He can take it, and to hell with him,” he said. - -The boy laughed. - -“I felt like that when I paid off. Now, I’m Red, the Cockroach—and a -tighter one you’ll never find in the galley sink!” He talked on rapidly, -going from one subject to another and his freckled nose was so impudent -that Martin had to smile with him. At last, the boy pulled off his cap, -showing his dark red hair. “That’s why they call me ‘Red.’ And,” he -continued, putting his hand in his pocket and pulling out a fistful of -tickets, “that’s why I’m ‘Red, the Cockroach.’ How’s shipping?” - -“I’m not trying to get out,” Martin replied. “No butter?” he added, -looking at the stale, brownish bread. - -“No butter,” answered the boy, nodding his head. “And watch the beans. -See those black fellows?” He pointed to Martin’s plate. “They’ll come up.” - -“We’ll leave them,” said Martin, running his fork through the pinkish -mixture. - -The boy had thrown his cap on the floor. He picked it up with a nervous -gesture and got out of his chair. - -“I’m going for a stick of weed,” he said. “Do you want to blow one up -with me?” - -Martin shook his head. - -“I’m a drinker,” he said. “I’ll put a beer behind yours if you care for -it. I’m not hungry enough yet to manage this.” He stood up, pushing his -plate to one side. - -“It’s a hell of a racket,” said Red, as they walked out together. “They -make plenty on this garbage.” - -It had grown dark. Under a streetlamp, Red looked sideways at Martin. - -“My connection is around the corner,” he said. “It’s Chilean Hay—good -stuff.” - -“Sorry,” said Martin. “I’m a drinker. I don’t object to Marihuana, but it -depresses me; gives me bum kicks, you know.” - -The boy shrugged. - -“O.K.,” he said. “There’s my connection.” He nodded to a man watching -them from a doorway. - -The fellow met them and looked suspiciously at Martin. - -“It’s O.K.,” said Martin’s friend. He took two cigarettes and handed back -a quarter. - -“I’m hot,” said the fellow, and walked away. - -“He’s right,” said Red. “The law has his number. They know he’s peddling.” - -“That makes it nice for us.” Martin glanced cautiously around him. - -“We’re O.K. The law don’t bother the consumer. Here!” Red pointed to a -dimly-lighted alley. “We can blast it right here.” - -“Isn’t it rather open?” - -“It’s all right,” said the boy. He lit a cigarette, puffed on it and held -the smoke in his lungs. Talking jerkily, he let out the smoke. - -“There’s just two kinds of men in the Bowery,” he said. “Weed-heads like -me, and they’re smart. And lushhounds—” he stopped talking. - -“Like me?” asked Martin. - -Red took several more puffs from the cigarette, jigging on his heels. - -“There it is,” he said. “I got it.” He laughed uncertainly. “Come over to -the Square with me. I know where we can make a couple of bucks.” - -“How?” asked Martin before he thought. - -“Hustling,” answered Red. - -“Hustling what?” insisted Martin, already in. - -“Anything from gin to Jesus,” said the boy dreamily. “Or in a pinch, an -Old Auntie.” - -“No. I’m turning in.” Martin felt suddenly tired. - -Around the corner, Red faced him. - -“It’s as soft as roses,” he said. “Just as soft as roses.” He walked to -the curb, peered over the edge, and stepped carefully across the street. - - - - -_CHAPTER III_ - - -The _Verda_, due to sail the following day, lay in port. Her lines -were coiled and her deck chipped. The houses had been cleaned and the -captain’s deck and the bridge were freshly painted. She was neat and -lonely, pushing against the wharf with tired swells. She was not the -same ship that had smashed against a storm-driven wave with a ferocity -equaling that of the ocean, or had tolled deftly under the charge of a -freak sea. She was aloof, nearly desperate amid the deluge of cans and -boxes and other flotsam that swept the harbor. She was a dead creature, -with the look of a coffin about her; and all the ships alongside were the -same. - -Below, in the _Verda_, the sailors were busy in the washroom. Tired -by a day in the holds they opened some beer. A young ordinary seaman, -restrained by weeks at sea, jumped around the room noisily and popped a -towel at one of the men. - -“Pipe down!” someone yelled at him. - -The boy, unlistening, wrapped a towel around his waist, grabbed another, -put on wooden sandals and ran into the fo’c’sle. Rio was sitting on his -bunk, his chin in his hands, staring straight before him. Exhilarated -by the beer and the cold bath, the ordinary danced forward and snapped -the towel, flicking it against Rio’s cheek. Instinctively, the big sailor -jumped to the boy’s side, his fingers spread. The ordinary turned pale -and backed away. At this, Rio’s eyes cleared. He regarded the lad as -though seeing him for the first time and without a word, returned to his -bunk. The ordinary took one more frightened look at him, went back to the -washroom and was soon laughing again. - -In the fo’c’sle Rio was silent. The other sailors began to drift in, -but no one spoke to him. He sat on his bunk with his chin in his hands, -thinking about Martin. He remembered the night on lookout, the ship’s -foam and the low constellations. He remembered lights over Haiti and a -young, impulsive face. Martin hadn’t understood. He knew what his friend -had thought. By God!—he’d thought it himself for a minute or two.... Why -had Martin got off in New York at this season? It would soon be winter. -He didn’t have any money. His body was conditioned to the tropics. His -clothes were light and his blood thin. He would sleep in a flop house, -eat bad food and get sick from that cold east wind. - -Rio got up from his bunk and went to his locker. He put on a new suit -and new shoes. He packed his gear except for his sea boots and oilskins. -These he laid on a bench. Then he put on his overcoat and a new hat, -picked up his bag and walked out of the fo’c’sle. - -None of the sailors had said anything while he packed. But when he had -gone, the young ordinary looked around with wide eyes. - -“For gosh sake!” he said. “What’s he doin’?” - -No one answered him. An old sailor picked up Rio’s sea boots and -inspected them. - -“There’s a god-damned hole,” he said. - -An able-bodied seaman lit a cigarette. - -“He blew his cork,” he said to the smoke. - -“It’s his own cork,” answered the old sailor. - -“Yeah,” said the A.B., picking up Rio’s oilskins and hanging them by his -own locker. - -“Let’s get a game,” suggested the ordinary, shuffling a pack of cards. - -“Get your game with the black gang,” said the old sailor. “Them lights’re -goin’ out.” - -“So’m I,” said the A.B., pulling on a blue jacket. “There’s a bag on Sand -Street that thinks I’m papa.” - -The ordinary stopped him. - -“Loan me a dollar, Al. An’ I’ll go with you.” - -The A.B. laughed. - -“A dollar?” He laughed again without looking. - -“I’ll pay you back in Panama,” said the ordinary. - -“We don’t get no draw in Panama,” said Al, and left. - -Some of the men followed him and the others climbed into their bunks. -The lights went out. The old sailor snored uneasily through the bitter -ghosts of his life. In the bunk above him the young ordinary tried to -forget Sand Street. He wanted to think about a secluded little valley on -the Pacific coast—so far away. He remembered the thick smell of clover -and the believing, fresh eyes of a girl he had left—for this? His bunk -felt damp and he turned wearily.... His shipmate was on Sand Street now. -There would be light-haired women and dark-haired women. There would be -dancing and an orchestra.... The boy rolled on his stomach and held a -pillow tightly against his eyes. The darkness brought fields and sunsets; -branches and yellow, curving rivers. Memory covered Sand Street—Sand -Street with its gin-mills, its red mouth and perspiration. The boy held -the pillow tighter. Smelling the girl’s lips and the clover—dreaming -of the bright, soft land—so far—his mother, his sweetheart, he went to -sleep. - - - - -_CHAPTER IV_ - - -Martin had lived in the Bowery a week before he realized that the sounds -and odors seemed less offensive to him; that his acquaintances and his -surroundings appeared less brutal. Each night in the hotel some man died -loudly in his bed. It was an incident. Martin felt himself in a husk -through which no poison could penetrate. One day, in an effort to regain -his lost perception he left the street, crossed old Italian town, passed -barren, rock-like buildings and looked for the first time at Washington -Square. He walked across the park, holding it all—the grassy air, the -fat babies, the old men with tanned, bald heads and individualities he’d -never seen before nor understood. On one bench he saw several of his -comrades on Relief. They were sitting quietly in the warm, fall sunshine. -“Talked out,” thought Martin, “and glad of it.” He passed them, nodded, -smiled and wondered why they thought him so apart, youthfully looking -at them for an answer instead of at himself. He then crossed over to -the circular pool in the center of the Square where boys and girls were -romping in the thin spray of the fountain. In the anticipation of the -approaching colder weather when the water would be stopped and this late -play ended for a time, they seemed more active than usual. “Why is it,” -Martin asked himself, “that I feel kinship among the antitheses—these gay -children or the devil!” - -One child, like all the others but for thinner legs and an abundance of -pale freckles, looked up at him and asked if he would watch her shoes and -stockings while she waded. This responsibility was heartening; and he sat -down on the edge of the pool while she went in rather cautiously. The -child seemed even more fragile among the vigorous ones who were shoving -each other and kicking up the water. For a long time Martin watched her. -“She might have been my own little daughter,” he said aloud at last; -and immediately the mist seemed to fall more heavily from the fountain -and the play to become more violent until he wished it over with. The -thought of home—a child—serenities attendant, brought the conflicting -inquiries of his life more sharply before him and he brooded. A few drops -of cold water in his face stopped the course of these reflections and he -looked up frowning, his eyebrows raised. It was the little girl. She was -laughing at his discomposure. - -“You looked funny,” she said. - -“Did I?” - -“Yes. That’s why I threw the water. You looked cross. Did I keep you too -long?” - -“Not at all,” he answered, smiling at her. “You know quite well that -wasn’t it at all. Furthermore, I shouldn’t be astonished if you _did_ -know, right now, why I was cranky.” - -This amused her again. - -“You’re the funniest person I ever knew,” she said. “You talk like a -teacher.” - -“I’m not a teacher; I’m a pupil,” Martin replied. “And I’m funny because -I study funny things.” - -“What kind of funny things?” asked the child, looking excited. - -“Many things. I study lady tigers that take off their stripes every night -and put them on in the morning quite differently and——” - -“Why do they do that?” interrupted the girl. - -“So they will be in style,” he continued seriously. “And I study dentist -birds that repair alligators’ teeth; and mice that fly upside down.” - -“Why!” exclaimed the girl somewhat indignantly, “I never heard such -stories in my life!” - -“That isn’t half,” said Martin. “Be very quiet now. Don’t move. Do you -see that fly that lit on my knee? He’s looking for something to eat. -There. He’s found it. Maybe I spilled sugar on my pants this morning. But -do you see what he’s doing before he eats? He’s washing his face with his -forelegs.” - -The little girl watched carefully and saw the insect dip its head and -bring its arms across its face like a brush. Suddenly she waved at it and -the fly spun away. - -“I can’t stand them,” she said. - -“Just the same,” Martin nodded, “it washed its face.” - -“It isn’t as funny as the tiger,” the girl concluded. “Tell me how a -tiger can take off its stripes. Does it hurt?” - -“Of course not.” Martin stood up. “I have to go now.” - -The little girl put on her shoes. - -“I wish you’d come again to-morrow. If you do, I’ll bring my ball.” - -“That will be fun,” called Martin as he walked away. Going back to his -hotel he thought of this blue-eyed youngster and how great it would be -to tell her fairy tales every night and buy her sandals and her frocks. -And with this picture came once more the vision of all the rest of it—a -wife’s head on his shoulder, a fireplace, and yes—a pipe. He wondered -then where in the world a finer shadow was leading him—a search for -mysteries without substance or reason. At that moment he was a tired and -a lonely man, quite willing to exchange a pound of mysticism and ideals, -hard-won from depth to depth, for one ounce of level complacency. But -after the first bitterness had worn off he was the same desperate young -lover of the physiostatic tides of force that subtly pull and push until -out of sheer pity they permit the frail skeleton to slip up on the sands -of its desire where the hollow star, so followed, lies desolate and -discontent. - -The next day he was glad to see the child again. Her good humor freed -him—was pure liberation from the constriction of the Bowery. She called -out to him at once. - -“Hello, teacher.” - -“I’d rather you said ‘Martin.’” - -“Is that your first name?” - -“Yes.” - -“And you don’t mind if I call you that?” - -“Of course not.” - -“Well,” she said deliberately, “my name is Alice.” - -“A pretty name.” Martin appeared abstracted. - -“I don’t like it. But I can’t help it. I’d rather be called ‘Betty.’” She -held out her hand. “Here’s my ball. Let’s play by the Arch.” - -They bounced it back and forth until Alice was tired. - -“You can’t throw it on top,” she declared, sitting down on the curb. - -Martin examined the light and badly worn tennis ball and measured the -distance to the top of the great Arch. - -“You’re probably right,” he agreed. But he gave a mighty heave and the -ball just rolled over the edge where it remained. This amused Alice; but -Martin was annoyed. He stood looking up at the top ledge of the Arch -for several minutes. At last, however, he said, “Come along,” for he -remembered a drug store near by in which he had seen some tennis racquets. - -A policeman had been watching them play ball and Martin thought the -observation had been casual; but when they made ready to leave the park -the suspicion on the man’s face had become so obvious that it brought -Martin up with a start. From surprise, he changed to anger; and when -they passed the patrolman he stared with such fury at the officer that -Alice questioned him. Martin did not answer her, but talked on rapidly -about the tennis ball. Then he began to reconsider the situation. It was -true that the policeman had been justified. This was New York—a thick, -practical city with an imperative demand for the protection of its -children. Martin’s anger abated; and when he and Alice reached the drug -store he deliberately put an end to his thoughts and premonitions and -bought her a fine, new ball. The matter-of-fact way she took it pleased -him more than any thanks she could have given him; for it meant he was -accepted as a friend. - -The little girl insisted that he return to the park next day, explaining -that he should use her present first. And when she went dancing away, -Martin smiled so broadly that the intense, deft lines of his face were -strangely softened. This mood remained until he reached the Bowery, but -in his room was completely lost in its solitude. Apprehension for his -friendship for this child turned the channels of his mind toward new -rivulets, each more forbidding than its predecessor, until he realized -there was no oasis of sweetness in the barrens of his choosing. His -temporary home, his very style and itinerant manner of living were -contributory fences to the land beyond the streets—a land he felt he had -invaded. He decided to tell little Alice that he was going across the -ocean again, where there were bees that neither stung nor gathered honey, -where lady tigers—and then, more tired than he knew, Martin slept. - -He saw Alice first the next day and called out cheerily. But the little -girl was quiet. She was holding the new tennis ball in both hands and her -eyes were lowered. - -“What’s the matter?” asked Martin, surprised. - -She looked up hesitatingly and Martin was shocked by the expression on -her face. He found it difficult to analyze, but there was hurt, and fear, -and he thought even horror there. - -“My mother told me to never play with you again,” said Alice, and her -voice was so thin and far away it sounded like a tiny pipe. “Mother said -to give this to you,” and she held out the new tennis ball. - -Martin put his hand around it. He was not looking at Alice anymore, nor -apparently thinking of her; for his vision was directed beyond—at a -disassociated blot of ugliness upon the sky; and he spoke so softly that -the girl could but faintly hear. - -“A voice like a reed in an Indian wind,” he said. “Like a tender, Indian -reed.” Then, without addressing the child, he passed her and walked, with -eyes implacably bemused, toward the corner of sky that held the dark and -obscene smudge.... That afternoon, upon a street he’d never seen before, -he remembered curiously it had been the first time he had cried in a -great while. - -In the PINE LEAF, next morning, his eyes were clear, his skin bright in -the sun; but with all of it, he counted every measure of his heart. This -was a dead passage—a ship without wings—men beside him shaving without -faces. There was no hastiness in his action, though; and with impassible -restraint he left the Bowery, its fretful entrances and lanterns thick -with sickness. - -He went uptown to the Relief Employment Station and stood in line again. -Behind and before him, such pitiful neatness would formerly have brought -the thought of laughter or poor tears. No more. - -A counselor interviewed them quickly. There was a card on his desk -marked MR. ROBERTS. Martin studied him with concentration, knowing that -this man through whom he might be placed demanded understanding, subtle -coyness and perhaps, beauty; for he saw a person hesitant in sex and yet -requiring it; a man lurid of cheek, yet pale; a contradiction with a -flush abnormal as its pallor. The look of Roberts was more theory than -fact; although Martin thought, amusedly, that certainly this personage, -most elegant, existed almost regally. The counselor’s eyebrows, alert -and thin and dark, commanded all his face. His deep-set cheeks and bold, -firm chin absolved too bright, too wide a pouting lower lip. His hair, -compressed and black, cut strongly in his temples and took away the color -from his eyes. “This masterpiece,” thought Martin, “should be done in -platinum; with alabaster, ebony and careful points of gold.” And then, he -found that he was next. - -Roberts glanced at him. - -“Sit down,” he said. “Are you waiting for a ship?” His eyes opened wide, -closed intimately, then opened wide again. - -“No,” said Martin. “I want a job ashore.” - -“Have you had college experience?” - -“Yes. Five years.” - -Roberts grew cautious. - -“Really! Post-graduate work?” - -“No. I was never graduated. It was off and on.” - -“Why?” - -Martin hesitated a moment. - -“I suppose because the electives interested me much more than the -requisites.” - -Roberts spoke impersonally. - -“A diploma is quite valuable in getting a job,” he said. - -Martin smiled. - -“That’s right.” - -The adviser looked at him questioningly. - -“I wasn’t trying to be rude,” said Martin, “but the situation appeared -somewhat ridiculous.” - -“I can well imagine,” answered Roberts, smiling back at him. “I wish -everyone out of a job could develop the same sense of humor.” - -“It isn’t a sense of humor,” replied Martin. “It’s a form of -embarrassment. I used to see little girls act this way in school.” - -The counselor nodded. - -“An acute analysis,” he said. - -“I didn’t mean that,” Martin added quickly. - -“Of course not.” Roberts was thoughtful. His eyes had assumed a knowing -look. His voice was unprofessional and the color in his cheeks had become -more prominent. At last, he picked up a card. “What kind of work do you -prefer?” he asked. - -“I’ve done a good many things.” - -“Have you specialized in anything?” - -“No.” - -“That’s curious. One would think that a young man with your intelligence -would——” - -Martin interrupted him. - -“I’m not intelligent,” he said. “I’m imaginative. Sometimes it gives -the illusion of intelligence.” Then, slightly bewildered by his own -statement, Martin reflected on this uncalled-for abstraction until he -forgot where he was and sat absently, with an appearance so unusual that -Roberts, who was watching him keenly, spoke one word half under his -breath; and Martin, taken from his musing by the unexpected character of -the exclamation, said sharply, “What was that?” - -But the adviser, disregarding the question, shrugged his -shoulders—basilisk in state once more. - -“Are you really ingenuous,” he asked, “or are you kidding me? One would -think that a young man of your—education—then, would have prepared -himself to meet inevitable economic problems.” - -“No.” Martin shook his head. “I’m not ingenuous, either. I’m conscious. -I’m too conscious; it makes me brittle. Nor am I kidding you. I told you -the truth. It is curious that I didn’t adjust myself. I tried to think -about it occasionally but it didn’t do any good. Other things seemed more -important.” - -Roberts was listening intently. - -“What other things?” he asked. - -“Oh—pretending. Sometimes other things; but mostly just pretending.” - -“Pretending what?” - -“Pretending that I was everything except what I am—that things were -different from what they are. I thought that life would move on and -somehow carry me with it. I have no way to substantiate this; but all my -life I’ve known that the finish was illusive—that it was best for me to -float with the current until an eddy whirled me into my right course.” - -“Have you struck the eddy?” - -Again Martin felt the intimacy of Roberts’ tone and frowned. - -“Perhaps you misinterpreted my question,” said the adviser coolly. “I -asked if you were in your proper medium.” - -Martin flushed and started to rise; but Roberts lifted his hand in a -gesture of restraint. - -“I really know how you feel,” he said gently. “Perhaps that’s why I spoke -as I did. In your capacity as a job hunter, however, there can be no room -for individual conflict; particularly in your relationship with one who, -understanding, offers both his professional facilities and,” he said more -slowly, “his friendship—” all the time looking directly at Martin with -the strange color coming and going as he spoke. - -“Cheeks—like a lost woman,” said Martin, trying to stop the sentence -before it was out of his mouth. - -Roberts stared at him for a second in astonishment. Then he went into -uncontrollable laughter. - -But Martin remained unsmiling. - -“I’m sorry I said that,” he remarked severely. “I really can’t excuse it -or explain it.” - -“Well, I’m not sorry,” said Roberts, leaning forward. “It’s the first -genuine fun I’ve had in a long time. I’d like more of it. But I’ll -confess—it’s disruptive to the morale of the office.” Still amused, he -glanced around him. His speech was high and unbalanced. “However,” he -went on, becoming more practical, “I’m going to get you a job.” - -“Well—” said Martin. - -“No, no,” insisted Roberts. “I’m glad I’m in a position to help you.” -Once more, he looked swiftly around him and continued in a lower voice. -“I think it’s wonderful to be able to help people. Don’t you?” - -“Yes.” - -Roberts hesitated. - -“It’s about the only thing there is in the world,” he said in a still -lower tone. “Isn’t it?” - -“Yes.” - -He wrote his address on the card and handed it to Martin. - -“I want you to come to my residence this evening. There, we’ll work out -your economic destiny.” He smiled faintly. - -Martin accepted the card, smiling also, wondering if he really looked -this subjective and, if not, why Roberts’ obvious attitude. - -“Very well,” he said, facing with curiosity a phenomenon before its -occurrence. “What hour?” - -“Nine.” - -Martin stood up and nodded slightly. It seemed to him that the employees -were watching him evasively as he left. - - * * * * * - -The great city arose with Martin and marched to its hysteria of noon. -Then, slowly falling till evening, burst into flame, quieted and slept. -Gigantic presses told of her neurosis. In this immutable turning flashed -black lines of the growth of the disease. Its people, wooden-eyed, -marionette, accepted with grimness; their minds numb and evasive. They -held their buildings higher in the air—pointed them like caricatures of -things that had gone, of things still to come. But their thoughts were -buried. Hidden under music and dust and smothered in light, the precious -balance died.... - - * * * * * - -The moon, free of clouds, shone through the blinds and into the -living-room of Roberts’ apartment. A crystal vase, without flowers, -directed the dim light into a corner. Small ebon figures held out -their arms. Roberts was wearing a dark Russian blouse. To Martin, he -appeared more fabulous and crystalline than in his office. His flush -was constant—so determinate that Martin guessed it artificial, noticing -however, that the native, restless color had moved into his eyes. There -it remained, fluctuating and searching until it seemed disturbingly -like the luminant phosphorus of uncertain, yet violent leaves and -shadows Martin had avoided in the tropics. Roberts had been ambiguous -throughout the evening and Martin felt that he knew him no better. But -he watched the adviser closely—watched each apparent banality for a -_double entendre_ and speculated upon the inevitable. He countered each -triviality; and made no attempt to acquiesce in a secretive understanding. - -Roberts now grew silent for long intervals. With a compelling, but a -quiet vision, he observed his young friend. The room had become warmer -and frost was forming on the window panes. Once, Roberts arose and ran -his finger across the glass, leaving a clear, narrow trail from which -fell small drops of moisture. - -“It’s colder outside,” he said. - -“Much colder,” replied Martin. - -Roberts came over and sat down near him. - -“Then I take it the warmth of our civilization has its appeal after all?” - -In a different fashion Martin confused the scene in as remote and -complex a pattern as his friend. Deeply muscled by the sea, he -nevertheless was finely drawn as a lady’s slipper and as quick of kicking -to the notice. Roberts was aware of this and other features that, to -him, were more demanding and elemental; for in his bleached eyes Martin -carried the ocean; there was the smell of salt about him—and, Roberts -thought, in a sort of painful hysteria, probably sand in his hair. His -face, out of the Indies, with its stain from the sun and from his youth, -should not hold dignity; and yet it did, in such a steady, high intensity -that Roberts caught his breath on it. Martin rubbed his foot over the rug. - -“‘Warmth’—of your civilization?” he repeated. “I’m astonished.” - -“Perhaps the word was ill-chosen,” answered Roberts. “But whatever our -qualities may be, I hope that you prefer them to those which emanate -from the fo’c’sle of a West Indian freighter. Now, it is my turn to be -astonished. Why did you say ‘_your_ civilization’? Are you not—” Roberts -hesitated, “one of us?” - -“I’m a seaman. We don’t fit in anywhere on land.” Roberts changed—seemed -more severe in the passing light. - -“This bold and masterful deception of all seamen is, to me, Martin, -a shabby thing. I see it as a trite avoidance of each standard -which, although sometimes unbeautiful, is present in the world. Such -life, irrelevant and irreverent of all doctrine, is but a switching -of responsibilities—a turning of the back that’s shielded by mere -boastfulness. In honesty to myself, I must admit that there’s a -careless beauty in its physical, sweet shape—the wrap of dungarees—and -forgetfulness in song. And yet, it’s impotent. Quite sterile in its -loveliness.... And finally, I see the man—the dungarees—the very songs -in pity.” The color surged into Roberts’ cheeks and he leaned nearer. -“You’ve abused yourself, Martin. There’s been dishonesty in plenty for -yourself. And what, dear boy, quite comes of it?” - -“Perhaps I do it to hear you drain yourself,” said Martin dryly. - -Roberts answered with immediate fierceness. - -“I don’t believe I’ve ever talked this way before. But I’ll use your -method now, Martin. You need a job. From your card I noticed that you’ve -been a printer. Can you operate a linotype?” - -“Yes.” - -“Then I’ll arrange things. Now, in heaven’s name—let’s leave this -miserable economic status. It’s impossible.” - -Martin frowned slightly. - -“But isn’t that why I’m here? You said—” - -Roberts’ blue eyes became darker. - -“Why not quote our professional introduction literally?” he asked. “You -were trying to amuse yourself, not help yourself. Why did you do it? -Why do you do it now?” With difficulty he restrained his anger. “A job -should be considered first, before this premature folly.” He stopped, -put out his cigarette and waited, only to be startled by Martin’s sudden -laughter. He raised his shoulders arrogantly. “You are entertained then, -by emotion?” - -“No,” said Martin. “Rather, by a grotesque episode.” - -“Grotesque?” Roberts seemed more contemptuous than indignant. - -“Indeed,” said Martin, inflamed by this dry attitude. “Grotesque. Absurd. -A farcical horse-opera of a lost decade revived in different ribbons, -different sex. This renovated melodrama is enough to make one sick!—a -pale girl with a stack of mortgage documents fastened in her long, blonde -hair, arguing for her virtue with a Russian blouse!” - -Roberts listened with fascination. His eyes became solicitous. The tenor -of the room altered swiftly. - -“You _could_ have been, Martin,” he said in a breath and quite excitedly. -“Yes, you could have been.” And then, between his lips, and with no -intended insult, Roberts spoke the same one word that he had whispered to -Martin that afternoon. - -Martin looked at the man and knew this exclamation had never been so -used. Without changing his expression he reconstructed Roberts’ face from -the fragments of thought that had suddenly charged the room. The pink, -hairless mask moved closer—without eyes, without nose, with a single hole -in the lower part and a single, dreadful sound protruding. - -Along the blinds lay a few ravelings of light. The face regained its -natural shape. Only an undermovement of greediness and a distant, crying -sound remained. - -Roberts walked over to a cabinet and brought back a colored liqueur which -he offered to Martin, pouring it slowly and meticulously into Holland -glass. He was once more the host, aloof, charming, courteous. - -“How do you think you will like your job?” he asked. “I’m sending you to -a friend of mine—a Mr. Jackson. He’ll see that you get along.” - -“There’s no reason to lie,” Martin answered. “I won’t like it. It’ll be -wretched—sitting there, pounding a machine that is more efficient than I -am.” - -“Then tell me—why do you want a job ashore? Why don’t you go back to -sailoring? Or, do you really like that sort of thing after all?” - -“It’s a free life,” Martin answered slowly. - -“And this is not?” - -“I don’t know. But your evaluations interest me.” - -Roberts became genuinely curious. All of the coldness left his face and -only the deeper lines of his integrity remained. - -“What is it that disturbs you, Martin?” he asked gently. “The past or the -future? Or the shadow behind the lamp?” - -“I imagine the shadows are worst.” - -“You intensify them, don’t you?” - -“Perhaps I even create some of them. We demand contrast.” - -“Mmm.” Roberts, his head nodding loosely, studied him. “You have -something in your eyes, Martin,” he said. “If you were a woman I would -forget my business, my complacency. I would want to run away with you—if -you were a woman.” - -Martin hesitated a moment before answering. - -“If I were a woman—you would not be interested,” he said at last. - -Roberts’ face grew white under the rouge. - -“You are candid. But my temperament should not disturb our friendship.” - -Martin leaned over, closing his hand about the adviser’s wrist and -holding it tightly. - -“What do you mean by ‘temperament’?” he asked. - -The insolent red came back into Roberts’ cheeks. - -“That was young, Martin, my lad. It was cruel.” Then, sensing the flux of -blood upon his wrist more keenly, he felt curiously strong. Happiness, -nostalgia and strength merged and fused until his mind turned slowly and -hung staring down upon the stages of his life. Two pale stars drifted -upward and dimmed. Roberts looked into his mother’s eyes. - - - - -_CHAPTER V_ - - -Rio lay on a bed in a room on Fourteenth Street. He was in a bad humor. -A back tooth ached and he sucked hot smoke from a cigarette against it. -The Relief authorities had told him that Martin had signed up, but had -disappeared without report. Had he left New York, or had he found a job? -Had he changed his mind and caught a ship—Martin was too slippery for an -idea to hold on to. Rio’s irritation increased. - -“He never was solid,” he said to the girl sitting across the room. - -“What do you care?” she answered. “You ain’t in love with him.” - -Rio dropped the cigarette butt, pressed his thumb on the coal and rubbed -it into the floor. - -“Don’t get mad now, sweetheart,” the girl said. “I try to be funny. And -that’s more than you done.” - -Rio sat up, took his coat and left. There was another chance. Martin -might have registered at the Employment Station. Rio walked along Third -Avenue, watching faces, stopping frequently to glance inside the saloons. -A long line of men, waiting outside one of the Relief restaurants, -attracted him. One of the men held out his hand. - -“Two for a nickel, buddy,” he said, holding his fingers over the -meal-tickets. - -“Three for a nickel, pisan,” said Rio, walking on. - -It was late afternoon when he reached the Employment Station. Roberts was -at his desk when Rio approached. He was turning over the cards in some -files and did not look up immediately. Rio, a rollicking expression in -his eyes, put his hands on his hips and began to pose slightly. He looked -like a male bear under morphine. The adviser glanced at him briefly, saw -the attitude and dismissed it. - -“Come back to-morrow. It’s five o’clock,” he said. - -“I don’t want to sign up,” answered Rio, grinning now. “I’m lookin’ for a -shipmate.” - -Roberts shook his head. - -“They’ll help you at Central Relief Headquarters. This is Employment.” He -spoke peremptorily. - -“I know,” said Rio. “He signed up over there and never checked out, but -he ain’t around. I thought maybe he found a job here.” - -“Five o’clock,” Roberts repeated, looking annoyed. “My secretary will -check over the list for you.” - -“His name is Devaud,” insisted Rio. “Martin Devaud. He’s a sort of young -guy.” - -“Devaud?” Roberts’ eyes were round. “Have I heard the name? A thin, -crippled fellow?” - -“No.” - -Roberts took a pencil and filled in a blank card. - -“We aren’t permitted to give information concerning these men, but if -such a person should ever come in, I’ll give him your name.” - -“My name’s Rio.” - -“What shall I tell him you wanted—if I see him?” - -Rio stuck his thumb against his chin. - -“You don’t need to tell him nothin’.” He leaned on the desk. - -Roberts looked at him stiffly. The color surged into his cheeks. - -“Is that all? I’m accustomed to accepting, not giving information. Unless -you give me the particulars I need, it will be impossible to coöperate -with you. Is this boy wanted for any misdemeanor?” - -Rio’s face turned a heavy red. - -“This boy ain’t wanted for ‘any misdemeanor.’ This boy’s a friend of -mine. He’s on the beach. I want to see him.” - -Roberts dropped the card on his desk. He showed the stamp of discipline. - -“Have you ever been thrown out of anywhere?” - -“Not by ten like you.” - -“Fortunately there are gentlemen here vested with that privilege.” The -adviser nodded across the room at several policemen. - -Rio laughed. - -“Fortunately? Gentlemen?” He walked away, then turned. “I’ll see you -later, Mister!” - -Roberts watched him leave. Powerful brute, he thought. Rio! A shipmate. A -friend. How good a friend? Roberts put his finger to his lips. Certainly -not a good contact for Martin. Damn the intimacy of the sea—like prison, -like Devil’s Island, holding men together, destroying all the niceties -of camaraderie.... Were those stories true about men on ships? A sordid -subject exaggerated out of all proportion—still, some of it must be true. -That big fellow. Was he? He had been unwarrantedly excited. - -Rio left the Station. Mr. Fish inside would look good with his teeth out. -Strictly fruit, huh? By God, these governors! Well, what of it?... Where -to look now? Martin wasn’t trying to ship. He wasn’t at the Hall or on -the docks. He wasn’t on Relief. He hadn’t got a job at the Station—or was -Roberts lying. “Gentlemen here vested with that privilege!” - -Rio took a train to Forty-second Street. The bright, flashing lights of -Broadway shut out the early stars. The hurrying expanse of faces had -less individuality than waves. There was no bond between their eyes and -his, impassionate. They were as eternal, as indestructible as ants. They -passed him, died, were born and passed again; a long, driving throng, -pale and imperishable, typed and counterparted into immortality. Rio -turned away, disgusted. Martin wasn’t there. He’d die in such a sea. God -bless sailors and their drifted lives. - -Rio returned to his room and lay down on the bed, nervous from its quiet. -He saw the unused pitcher—one of dignity; with whiteness and good height. -It made him slightly sick. There was a girl’s bag on a chair; and one -article, too intimate, beside it. He rolled over. Suddenly the doorknob -rattled. - -“What is it?” he called out, impatiently. - -Two girls walked in, smiling, red-cheeked. - -“Hello, Rio,” one of them said. “Did you find your buddy?” - -“No.” - -“That’s too bad, Rio.” - -“Look here,” said Rio, unsmiling. “This is amateur night. Now beat it.” - - - - -_CHAPTER VI_ - - -Martin worked into the routine of the printing plant. There were thirty -linotypes around him, shielding him with their clamor. He found retreat -in their noise and liked to feel that he was a lever or cam, bending or -turning inconspicuously in the tide of words. He hid his revulsion as an -automaton and mixed his sweat with the oil of the machinery. There was an -acrid taste of hot lead in the air, a taste of ink, the taste and rattle -of matrices. Martin could feel his shoulders bend into the machine—could -see the horizon shrink to the area of light on his copy. Type, type, -type—up with the line. Feel the grinding of the fellow, pressing, -digesting. Out with the slug, searing hot and good to calloused fingers. - -When evening came and work was over, Martin straightened his back and -went to the wash-trough. The gritty soap smelled good, like candy. He -associated it with freedom. Outside, he felt like running—jumping a -hydrant, racing a car. He wanted to shout at the slanting sunlight. - -He lived uptown, at one of the most inexpensive club-hotels for men. The -rooms were clean and, from the standpoint of his present earnings, the -cost was reasonable. Most of the residents were hard-working fellows who -needed a place to sleep. Martin read the recreational program; but women -were not included in its itinerary, so he remained in his room or walked -up and down the street. - -He sat in his room, thinking to a point and back. The period seemed -interminable. The break, the nervous ejaculation that would throw him out -of this treadmill seemed further away than before. He remembered the sea -and ships upon it, hot rain, salt and rust and bubbling, rising life. The -memory filled his nose and lungs and mind. - -“God damn,” he said, and struck the wall with his hand. - -The buzzer in his room sounded and he went to the house-phone in the hall -to answer. - -“Hello, Martin. How are you?” - -“Hello, Roberts.” - -“I have a surprise, Martin. There’s a little party and I’d like you to -come with me. Just a few people. Would you like to?” - -“Yes. Yes, I’d like to.” - -“Good. I’ll come by for you. It will all be very informal, very casual.” - -“Indeed it will,” said Martin. - -“What’s that?” - -“I said, indeed it will.” - -“What do you mean?” - -Martin could feel Roberts’ eyes over the wire, slightly protruding, and -his eyebrows moving gently up and down. - -“I meant nothing. When will you be here?” - -“Oh. Soon. It’s unexpected.” - -“Thanks,” said Martin. “Till then.” - -He went back to his room and shaved. Next he put on one black sock and -one gray one—not for style’s sake, nor to be eccentric. When he was -dressed he looked earnestly in the mirror. - -“Pale,” he said. He sat down on the bed and stared at the wall. It seemed -a long time to him before Roberts rapped on the door. - -“I’m glad to see you,” Martin exclaimed with relief. “It’s you all -right—you and your intolerable verve.” - -Roberts laughed. - -“Good heavens! What finery!” he cried, looking at Martin’s suit, which -was pressed. - -Roberts was wearing a Derby. There was a narrow beaver collar on his dark -topcoat and under the fur was a light, silken scarf. He carried white -knitted gloves. He stood for a few moments in the doorway looking at -Martin. Then, throwing his hat and gloves on the bed, he went over to the -mirror and adjusted his scarf, observing himself carefully. - -Martin lay back in his chair and watched him, a twinkle in his eye. - -“You’re beautiful, all right,” he said. - -Roberts turned around and nodded seriously. - -“I know I am,” he answered. “But there is more character than -feature—that’s what pleases me.” - -Martin laughed good-naturedly and got out of his chair. - -“Both qualities are necessary for complicity with women, aren’t they?” - -Roberts gave him a slow, cynical smile and they left. - - * * * * * - -Martin was sorry that he had accepted the invitation to the party when -he met his hostess, for her immoderate greeting brought about a sudden -loneliness within him. Among the guests this feeling of desolation -grew stronger. Their faces and smiles seemed vaporous and foreign. One -large fellow grinned persistently, his eyes unfocused. Only the hostess -retained her buoyancy. She bounded from person to person with an amazing -levity. There were sentences all over the room, but they were incoherent, -more porous than the faces. Feeling helpless, Martin went to a corner and -sat down. One of the guests sang “_The Bells of St. Mary’s_” backwards, -and Martin began to doze. - -Through his discomfort he heard a new voice. Clear, apart from the -conversation, it held his attention. He opened his eyes. Near the -fireplace at the other end of the room, on a large divan and leaning far -back into it, sat a blond young man, his legs crossed. In spite of his -careless attitude, Martin was conscious of the earnestness with which -the other regarded him. Fully aware of Martin’s observation the man -continued to look at him squarely. At last he sat straighter, brushed his -hair into place with a sweep of his hand and gave Martin an unusually -provocative smile. Its good nature was genuine, but Martin kept to his -own melancholy and somber stare. He had never seen a man with such -apparent knowledge of his blood and caste, nor one so youthfully wise. -Altogether, Martin saw in him a weathered, inbred prototype of himself, -an experienced apprentice. It was the soil, the rash, the water Martin -needed; and he continued to stare like a child absorbed. It was not until -the young man turned to his companion that Martin realized that a woman -as individual—more quickly individual, held his strange friend’s arm. -Under Martin’s continued gaze she placed her other hand upon the blond -man’s sleeve and looked up at him questioningly. - -In the half-light of the room Martin could see her profile—could feel the -intensity of her womanhood; and it caused him to forget, momentarily, -her companion. Holding her throat that way, the way her breast rose -under her satin gown, the unnatural silver in her dark hair caused -Martin to speculate—to wonder at his own abreaction. He felt awkward -and indecisive, yet withal, an inconsiderate urge and tightness under -his collar. He could scarcely restrain himself from walking over and -speaking. But he stayed quiet instead, and felt hot and cold at each -thought, and finally decided he would just go away from sheer itching. -When at last the woman did turn to look at him he continued to stare at -her for a moment the same way he had done with the young man. Then he -found that his thoughts were going down the satin dress to the slim waist -and hips that seemed to be moving under his watery eyes, and down at last -to her stockings. - -“It isn’t her legs,” he thought. “It’s her stockings and every damnable, -secret place they lead to.” Looking up again he saw her young clear lips, -tattooed; and, he imagined, caps of equally bright color under her dress. -Her eyes were the most beautiful of all of her, and yet the worst; for -Martin, in amazement that they should translate his idiom so perfectly, -felt that they were turning him inside out so that each thought and -desire could be read plainly. However, there was something else about the -woman that made him want to go away, or come, or do anything as long as -it was she who sent him away, or took him in. - -“I’m mad,” he said. “She’s nothing but a brood-mare. A wild, teasing -brood-mare stamping for me. But I wish I had her in the grass where she -should lie.” And he turned his flushed, wet face toward Roberts who was -approaching. - -“At whom are you looking?” asked the adviser, suspicion in his tone. - -“I was watching,” Martin answered. - -“Where are you looking?” persisted the adviser. - -“I believe I should go home,” said Martin briefly. - -Roberts looked around in the direction of Martin’s stare and smiled -without amusement. - -“Come along,” he said, sighing and taking his friend by the arm. “Either -one was inevitable, I suppose.” - -Without answering, Martin walked with him to the couch where the young -man and his companion were sitting. - -“I want you both to know Martin,” said Roberts. “He was just going home -on account of you. I wonder what he meant, Deane,” he continued, ignoring -the young man who stood up, smiling unconcernedly. “What did he mean, -Drew?” he asked, this time of the man; and without waiting for an answer, -sat down rather sulkily, peering from under his eyelids at Deane as -though he was displeased, for Martin and Drew had moved a short distance -away from the divan and had begun to talk together. - -Deane looked at Roberts with understanding, her brilliant lips open, her -cool, dark eyes filled with indulgence. - -“Your friend looks interesting enough,” she said. “Why does he upset -you? Isn’t he your protegé? Dear Ella,” she glanced toward the hostess, -“intimated as much.” - -“Damn her fat tongue,” said Roberts. “But,” he continued wearily, “I wish -he were, Deane. I’m part of him and he doesn’t know it—or pretends not -to. I gave him a rotten job. A job full of grit and lead and ashes and he -won’t—he won’t——” - -Deane seemed a little contemptuous. - -“No?” - -Roberts shook his beautiful head and turned away despairingly. - -“A young girl in her first romance,” said Deane, speaking now with an -undertone of anger. - -“You only think me so,” went on the adviser, still desperate. “But I’ve -waited for this a thousand years and it goes in one bleak night to my one -dear friend,” he looked up at Drew who was still standing before Martin, -“or,” he ended bitterly, glancing once more at the woman beside him, “to -you. I tell you, I know him, Deane. I saw it in his eyes. He was watching -you so. I never saw him watch me that way. Never!” - -Deane looked at him in amazement. - -“You?” she cried. “Watch _you_?” - -Roberts, observing her, sat straighter, became more haughty. - -“Yes,” he said quietly. “He never looked that way at me. And _I’m_ mad -because of necessity and not an empty wish! It’s the bone of me—it’s my -flesh and the rancor of centuries!” He stood up, trembling. - -“Drew!” he called commandingly. He was white, beautiful and Satanic in -his rage. - -Drew started, looked around at him and the two young men stepped nearer. - -“Roberts!” cried Drew in consternation. - -But the adviser merely waved his hand. - -“Roberts!” said Martin slowly. His eyes half closed, and in the space -where the iris showed came a harsh light as if misdirected robots were -moving behind the lashes. His face, still burned by the sea, became -intent. It was as though he were concentrating upon a floating object. -Motile, sensitive lines drew around the corners of his eyes and turned -from rust to white. Under this stare, Roberts faltered in his attitude -of severity; and wheeling suddenly, without excuse, his hands half out, -walked swiftly across the room to the buffet where he stood, leaning one -arm upon it. - -Deane sat quietly, watching Martin. There was now a look of contempt upon -his face. It formed about the fine cheeklines, which by themselves seemed -to curl until the face solidified and grew articulate with sour flutes of -madness. He took a step toward Roberts and Drew caught him by the arm. - -“What is it, Martin?” he asked. “In heaven’s name, don’t look that way! -Be careful! Everyone is watching you. Stay here with us!” - -Abruptly, Martin sat down with Deane, so close that she could feel him -tremble. She looked up quickly at Drew, who nodded, and with a brief, -inscrutable smile, left them and went to Roberts. - -As he waited for Roberts to speak, there was a tactfulness and grace -about him which the adviser could not evade. - -“Drew,” he said at last, “listen to me. It’s dreadful.” He paused to look -steadily at his friend. “I can’t work without thinking about him. I can’t -eat. It’s a damnable obsession! And to think!—with such a shameful lad!” - -Drew appeared listless. - -“Is that the word, Roberts?” - -“It’s the smallest I can think of.” - -Drew took a purple flagon containing a cordial from the buffet, holding -it so that he might find its color from the room’s dim light. - -“No,” he said, “‘shameful’ is not the word. Rather I should say,” he -hesitated, “‘shameless.’” - -Roberts regarded him carefully. - -“What is your interpretation of that word?” - -“The usual one,” said Drew slowly. “A lacking of, Roberts. Not a -diverting of.” - -“You think then, that he has no moral sense at all,” said Roberts, as -though in agreement. - -Drew tilted the flagon, observing the changing violet lights as the -clear, thick drops of the liqueur ran individually down the neck of the -bottle. - -“It isn’t this important, dear,” he said. “It _can’t_ be this important.” -He was still observing the flagon. “Do you know this amazing drink?” he -asked. “It comes from a small flower that grows only in the Bavarian -Alps, and at an altitude of between four and five thousand feet. This -very discriminating blossom is called the ‘blue dormant.’ ... A boy once -pointed out to me the place where they grew,” he said reflectively. - -“Oh! Damn you, Drew!” said Roberts miserably. “Answer my question. You’ve -often told me that you, yourself, were unmoral, not immoral—are you -drawing a likeness?” - -Drew replaced the Gebirge Enzian and faced Roberts, sincerity in his -voice. - -“You were terribly upset and I chatted a bit. That’s all. I don’t even -know what I said, and I don’t believe you meant what you said.” - -“Oh, I do.” Roberts nodded his head grimly. “Indeed I do. Look over -there.” He motioned slightly in the direction of Martin and Deane who -were speaking intimately with each other. “Do you see that, my love?” -he went on contemptuously. “As catching as flypaper and as promiscuous. -And yet I can’t help myself. The very way he looks at Deane puts arrows -into me.” Suddenly Roberts’ eyes filled with tears, and half choking, he -turned from the guests and from Ella, who was hovering nearby and who -seemed frightfully amused. Instinctively, Drew stepped close to him, his -protective shadow encircling the bent shoulders of his friend, hiding the -quiet sob. - - * * * * * - -When Drew had gone to Roberts, Deane placed her hand on Martin’s for a -moment, then withdrew it gently, without speaking. - -“It was a kiss,” thought Martin. “She’s bringing me across the river.... -A proud woman, with her hair like the lights of a ship.... A woman -sheltered, but one inalienable to love.... I wish she’d smile again.... -God help me! She’s on my trail like a hound! I might as well have spoken -through a trumpet.” Turning toward her he said, “I really shouldn’t have -come here. I feel out of place. But,” he hesitated, “I thought that it -might be ... and it is,” he added shortly. - -Deane started to touch him again, then stopped, for Martin looked so -eager and shy that she became the same way. - -“Damn it!” thought Martin. “What a trip!” ... “Well,” he said aloud, “it -shouldn’t have been.” - -Deane laughed softly. Martin could see the black diagonal stripes across -her red kid slippers and this cabalistic signal took his thoughts -back wantonly to the Church where so often as a child he had released -his theological rut into the dark precipices of the Cathedral. Those -fearfully sweet memories came sharply into his mind now and he remembered -how the vast, swelling notes of the organ had lifted him up and rocked -him into peacefulness. Nostalgia overcame him as he continued to gaze at -the little red and black slippers. Then he grimly blocked these crevices -of the mind which exude a flavor too ghastly even for the pith and stench -of the undersoul, and he spoke again, this time without thought or -conception. - -“I mean,” he said, “that for a long time the parties I’ve gone to have -been so apart from this sort of thing—that is, apart dimensionally. The -people were plain and simple. There were rivers, mostly yellow, and -bushes and trees to lend informality, and all the music came out of -parrots. Once, along such a river-path, I met a man with a nose as broad -as my fist. His dark skin had such heavy needlework upon it that it was -beveled like tooled leather. His feet splayed like a water-creature’s. -We couldn’t speak each other’s language, but we both understood food. It -made us friends. We had mashed rice, water, and some kind of grape he’d -brought out of the forest over his shoulder.” Martin stopped abruptly at -Deane’s curious look. - -“I’m sure there was that and more in the tropics, Martin,” she said -deliberately. “There was the Right Honorable Lord Jesus stamping through -the jungle.” - -Martin, embarrassed and yet amused, looked steadily at Deane. - -“Such things can, and should be reduced,” he said. “I’d have been -impatient, myself.” He hesitated, unable to keep from staring at the -soft line of her throat where each shadow lay like a bruise upon her -skin. This intimation of her feeling for light, of limbs too tender, made -him lift his intense eyes to her own which were even more brilliant. -“Please,” he continued, “will you please let me take you home?” - -Now, Deane saw him differently, with more excitement. What an enigma! -And what a charming transition from his faint braggadocio (or was it!) -to this straightforward question. She knew that he was waiting for an -answer, yet she was silent. Silent while they kept turning their heads -to reassure each other like naughty children in the cool green brush -and willows by a railroad track. They knew. They understood completely; -and Martin, in this Roman anticipation, shivered; and when at last they -did stand up to separate only for a moment they still seemed to cling -together helplessly. Once, as they crossed the floor, Martin paused, -and Deane, aware of his intention, went on alone. She disappeared into -the hallway, and the sight of her sweet entirety, her gown, the thought -beneath it made Martin caustic and erect. Only then did he look around to -see that Drew and Roberts were observing him. As he came up to them, Drew -greeted him warmly, but Roberts held his face away. - -“We were talking of compassion,” said Drew, smiling. “It takes sophistry, -Martin.” He turned to his other friend. “Isn’t that true, Roberts?” he -asked. - -“It takes common sense,” said the adviser. - -“It takes that, too,” said Martin. “It takes sophistry and common sense -and a hundred other things. But I prefer to leave it to the Giver.” - -“Right,” said Roberts angrily. “It takes the god-damned miserable Giver!” -Then more softly, “Deane Idara is a remarkable woman, Martin. You realize -that she has recently suffered a severe shock?” - -“No! A shock, you say?” - -Roberts’ eyes shone above the sudden pallor of his cheeks. - -“Yes,” he said. “She lost her husband only a very short while ago.” - -“Why did you tell me that?” asked Martin rapidly. He tried to quiet -himself, but he bit his lip and looked at Drew rather wildly. “I -understand death. I too have died. I too have seen intimate death.” The -phosphorus shone again in his eyes. “Cowardly remark!” he said under his -breath. - -The adviser seemed to draw within himself, growing even more pale. He -spoke sarcastically. - -“Do you mean that you, too, Martin, have lost a husband?” - -Martin glanced again at Drew who was standing motionless, expressionless, -then back at Roberts. He could scarcely move his lips. - -“I’m going home,” he said. “Goodnight, Drew. And goodnight, Roberts.” - -“Goodnight,” Drew answered, holding out his hand to detain the adviser -who was automatically following. “Goodnight, Martin,” Drew called -after him again. Then, “Roberts!” he whispered uneasily, still holding -his friend’s arm. “You don’t have even the foundation! _Won’t_ you be -sensible?” - - * * * * * - -Deane Idara was standing at the door. Martin’s shadow fell across her -face and they left the apartment. Outside, the air was high and pointed -with light. Crisp new stars whizzed over them, brightening the street. -Martin could feel her arm get tighter and tighter, and his own breath -became heavier until in the darkness between corner-lamps he swung her -round to him and kissed her cold little wet lips. With his arms around -her and the feel of her lips becoming warmer under his, he whispered, -“I’ll kill you. Oh, by God!—I’ll kill you, I love you so!” And then he -kissed her again until he felt himself just going away as he had thought -he would. Deane was pressing as tightly as she could against him, but her -head seemed to fall back too loosely and Martin kept saying, “I’ll get a -taxi, dear. I’ll get a cab.” He waved at several until one stopped, and -after they had climbed inside he pulled Deane to him and asked, “Where -are we going, dear?” She kissed him, and Martin could feel her breath on -his cheek. The cab driver slumped down in his seat indifferently and lit -a cigarette. “Where are we going, Deane?” Martin asked again. - -“Not far,” she answered, nodding to him feverishly. “Tell him to drive up -the street. It’s one sixty-nine....” - -Her apartment was dim and motionless. A long window faced the line of -city buildings. Martin and Deane stood before it, breathing the soundless -air. In this black and white panorama he felt indistinct, separate from -his identity. He had removed his topcoat and he imagined he could feel -Deane’s skin against his, so tight was her black gown. They stood by the -window, holding each other in a sensuous embrace of expectation—of change -of clime. Then he thought of her stockings and her sacramental slippers. -They were furiously beautiful and revealing against the rug. Martin put -his hand within her blouse and held it there while she pressed closely to -him. He unslipped a button, then another, and another. “I’ve buck fever, -Deane,” he whispered hoarsely. - -Deane shook her hair, her eyes blazing. - -“You helpless bastard,” cried Martin to himself.... “Let’s break it, -Deane,” he whispered to her once more. “Let’s break it completely,” and -he pulled the loosened gown from her white shoulders. “And here’s mine,” -he went on, continuing the motion until his opened shirt and singlet were -flat against her breast. “We’ll call it the wild black clogs of Belgium, -dearest,” and he clenched his hard brown arms around her waist. Without -speaking further he took her hand and led her into the adjoining room. -He sat down on the gray paneled bed, pulling her surely beside him. -Deane saw the slight trembling of his lips and the heavy expression of -his eyes which stirred her with an intoxication that was close to fear. -She was drawn by the swift pace of his emotion, yet held back by the -certainty of his demand. Even as she was thinking, the rapid heartbeats -against her became more rapid and the pressure of Martin’s hands brought -so definite a response that all vaporous abstractions were forgotten and -she knew herself in an immediate physical presence. Wanting Martin as -she did, the knowledge of his action brought no idle gestures; and she -was quiet, with eyes half closed as she felt herself lifted, then rested, -with Martin’s arm for a pillow. Infinitesimal beads of moisture formed -on Martin’s temples as his hand caught the rim of her stocking, but the -warm, soft flesh above it made him cry out softly. The very lights seemed -tenderer and the very shadows kinder as these two lovers held each other. -The night was penetrated by a question, by a sob; and all the cruelties -and perversions of humanity were justified by this union—natural, -unashamed and magnificent in simplicity and passion. - - - - -_CHAPTER VII_ - - -Roberts waited near the printing plant the following afternoon. When -Martin came out he went swiftly to him, holding out his hand. There was -haggardness and strain—a formation of new lines in Roberts’ face. - -“I could hardly wait till you were through work to-day, Martin,” he -said anxiously. “I have been terribly distressed over last night. I -feel that it was my mistake—entirely my mistake. I was overminded by my -zealousness—or,” he hesitated, “by my jealousy. You know how I feel about -you. You do know, don’t you?” - -Martin, following his emotion, rather than the outposts of his mind which -usually warned him, was drawn to Roberts by this speech, so painful and -revealing. - -“For God’s sake, Roberts,” he said, “there wasn’t any mistake. But if -there is anything deserving such a name, we’ll forget my fault, and -yours.” - -Roberts sighed with relief. - -“Then you _will_ forgive your old mother?” he asked contentedly. - -“I forgive myself and you,” repeated Martin. - -Roberts did not hear, or hearing, did not understand. A strong -impression of brotherhood made his hands tremble. A feeling of careless -happiness exhilarated him. The vision grew clearer and his heart tried -gallantly to keep pace with his mind’s picture of the Affinities, -striding hand in hand against the foolish tide of intolerance and -misunderstanding. He took Martin’s arm and started down the street, a new -freedom in his eyes. - -“We are going to have dinner together to-night, Martin.” - -“I’m sorry, Roberts, but I have an engagement.” - -Roberts laughed. - -“Oh, you’ll come, all right!” He swung on to Martin’s arm. “We’ll have -the most glorious dinner of our lives. We’ll put the table by the radio -and have our sherry with Bach—yes, with Bach. But you may have Delius -with your Chablis.” He shook his finger in Martin’s face and laughed -again. “I warn you, however, our Benedictine will call for Wagner! The -renegade!—The impious Pretender! We’ll swing his stomach like a bell over -our Benedictine.” - -Martin’s cheeks were sucked in. He seemed ready to laugh but his eyes -were shaded. - -Roberts, still chuckling, glanced at him carelessly in his merriment and -was astonished. - -“Martin!” he cried. - -“I’m sorry. Some other time I’d like to. But to-night, I can’t come.” - -Rage, a positive hatred, shook the adviser. Words of reproach and -anger were about to be spoken when he was deterred by the same quality -in Martin’s face that had quieted him before. This time, even in his -shame, he tried to analyze the reason—to connect and precipitate -Martin’s features into the symbol that stopped his fury. He felt that -it was an earth-impression—a breath of old winds—a shade of substratum -clay—a distillation neither spatial nor timely. He saw Martin’s face in -retrospect as the outline of a rising mountain crag, lonely within the -moon; or as the shaping pseudopods of cloud that are confusing in their -similarity to some ancient clot of memory. - -But Roberts was not easily defeated. He spoke evenly. - -“We _must_ have dinner together to-night.” - -“I have an engagement,” repeated Martin. - -“An engagement! _Our_ dinner is important.” - -“My engagement is the kind you can’t break.” - -“Really!” A supercilious expression flitted across Roberts’ face and his -one sharp word carried an air of volubility. - -Martin, looking straight ahead, made one more effort. - -“Won’t you walk down this way with me?” he asked. - -“But this is a special dinner,” protested Roberts, following him. - -“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” - -“Oh, I see. I didn’t realize your social program was so strenuous.” - -“This is the first thing of its sort,” Martin replied. - -“First thing of its sort?” Roberts laughed shortly. - -“Yes,” Martin answered. “That was awkwardly put.” - -“Yes,” said Roberts, a mimicking expression on his face. “Yes, yes.” - -“Let’s not break this, please.” Martin spoke earnestly. - -Roberts’ voice acquired a superior tone. - -“I can’t help it, Martin, if your sense of values is unintelligent,” he -said. - -“I wish you would understand.” - -“I do understand.” Roberts held his finger in the air warningly. “Don’t -let some transitory illusion make a fool of you, dear boy.” - -“‘Transitory illusion?’” asked Martin absentmindedly. “It has a history -and a future.” - -“Deane Idara is a clever woman,” observed Roberts. “But you have a job.” - -Martin smiled queerly. - -“Doesn’t my job depend upon my work?” he asked. - -Roberts stopped abruptly and faced him. - -“I can tolerate rudeness, but not unkindness,” he declared with dignity. - -Martin took the other by his arm. - -“I want to be as good a friend as you’ve been to me, Roberts,” he said, -trying to speak calmly. “Every contact, economic or social that I have, -you’ve made for me. I’d not be myself if I were unappreciative. That’s -not it alone, though. We have many things together—food—and music—isolate -cynicisms—and all these have their place. You understand. You know, also, -that even with the best of friends, sometimes a path divides. Certain -diversions, certain loves, are found impossible in common.” - -“But love is what I need,” said Roberts quietly. - -“That element is fugitive.” - -“And still I need it.” - -“The whole world does,” insisted Martin. - -“But I, especially.” - -“It’s too difficult, Roberts.” - -“Nothing is difficult,” he replied. His voice was sorrowful. “Martin! -Break this date with Mrs. Idara.” - -“It has more than precedence, Roberts.” - -“I demand it.” - -“Then,” said Martin, a feeling of exhaustion coming over him, “I’m afraid -there’s no alternative. I turn down here.” - -Roberts’ wide blue eyes looked white in the twilight. - -“We’ve been fools, Martin. We should never quarrel. Let’s forget all -this. Come on.” He was like a small boy pulling at Martin’s arm. “We’ll -have wine and chicken. We’ll have mushrooms.” - -It might have been a sob. - -“I can’t.” - -Roberts, blinded to Martin, stared at him. Then he turned swiftly. His -eyes darkened in the first lights of evening and he walked hurriedly away. - - * * * * * - -Roberts’ face superimposed the view from the window where Martin -stood with Deane. Its expression was somber and equivocal. Through -this skeletal haze they watched the city’s significant pantomime—the -silhouettes and flashings, the play of shadows below them. - -“You’ve seen Roberts, haven’t you?” asked Deane quite suddenly. - -Martin looked down at her bright sandals. She was wearing a deep blue -hostess gown, nearly the color of the evening sky. A burnished cross, -held by a woven cord, fell from her throat and lay between her breasts, -and again Martin saw the silver within her hair as mast lights over the -water. - -She picked up a cigarette and lit it for him. Around the tip, the moist -red paste from her lips left a scarlet ring. She put the cigarette in -Martin’s mouth. - -“Yes,” he said, holding the smoke in his lungs, “I’ve seen Roberts. But -he has no place up here.” - -Deane looked at him strangely. - -“He disturbs me, Martin. I don’t like him.” - -“He disturbs, me, Deane. He wanted me to have dinner with him to-night. -When I told him I had an engagement he knew it was with you. One wheel in -his brain spins on an eccentric.” - -“What can he do?” - -“He can kill the copper goose—cause me to lose my job. And it’s all -wrong. We like each other. We should have been good friends. I admire -him. He has a mind, and my brand of humor. The first time I saw him at -that Relief place I was attracted to him. I wanted to know him better.” - -“But couldn’t you see that he was—different?” - -“You call it ‘different.’ Roberts calls it temperamental.’ Rio would call -it——” He stopped. - -“Rio! Who is Rio?” - -“Oh. Rio? He was a shipmate. An individual. Sometime I’ll tell you -what I know about him.... But to get back. I did know that Roberts was -different. I believe I knew it the first time I saw him. It didn’t -interfere with my admiration for him. I was lonely. Hard work on ships -had surfeited me with the physical. I didn’t hesitate at the specter of -consequences—although I did anticipate them. I believed that I could -handle them. I couldn’t. You see, Roberts was convinced that I, too, was -‘temperamental.’” - -Deane made an impatient gesture. - -“He had no reason to think that.” - -“Perhaps he did,” said Martin thoughtfully. “Perhaps he had a combination -of reasons. First of all, I took no pains to hide my interest in him. -Perhaps he misunderstood the motive. And then, there are gestures and -expressions that are open to suspicion. The line of demarcation in such -friendships seems variable. Roberts wanted me to belong to his group, -and whether the misconstruction was artificial or genuine, he arrived at -a conclusion. Tell me what you know about him, Deane.” He turned to her -impulsively. - -“Then I must tell you of his mother, Martin. She was as luxuriant as -himself and more. She was pure crystal with the same high febrile cheeks, -but an attitude so strong that I always felt his should be less. I’m -sure though, that no one could touch her but himself—at least, I felt she -swept along in an invulnerable carriage of glass, indifferent to any but -her son. William Roberts finds his coloring from her, and his bearing, -and his remarkable beauty; for,” Deane observed in reminiscence, “he -wears a tie or scarf the way she wore her pearls, as though they were a -part of her throat. They were glorious pearls—a small dark strand with a -diseased, slow luster, indistinct in tone, but so inseparable from her -body that when her skin assumed the radiance we see in Roberts, they -followed her as though they loved her. What her husband meant to her -before his death seemed of little importance; for her life, so obviously, -was contained in Roberts’ glance, his frown, or contradictory expression. -These two were more like complementary figurants intent upon each other -in their mutual demand than like a mother and son. That he adored her -showed in every action—from the way he placed her shawl—” Deane looked -at Martin briefly, “from the gentle manner with which he drew her shawl -over her exquisite, proud shoulders (it was like a caress!) to his -affectionate concern over trivialities—her slightest expression, or even -guarded undertones that no one knew except themselves. Once, I saw them -when he became aware of a woman speaking—I knew it was without intent—and -then I saw his mother’s strength. She never moved—no line of her face -changed; but everything in the room became alive and hard. To me, it -seemed that the tender pearls around her throat turned into steel. The -woman who had been speaking with Roberts became confused, faltered, and -he seemed ready to rise from his chair. But at this, his mother smiled -faintly and spoke graciously to the other woman. It was all right, -apparently; but I was chilled and felt ever so glad when the party broke -up. Shortly after that, Martin, the mother died, and I am sure that part -of Roberts went with her.” Deane was speaking intensely, with a fixed, -unusual look toward Martin which he accepted steadily. Since he would not -speak, she made a curious remark. “This, you knew, Martin—not the way I -told it; but you knew.” - -“Yes,” he answered. “Yes, I knew.” He turned from her, staring out of the -window into the darkness. - -The doorbell rang. - -“It’s Drew,” said Deane. “No one else would come here at this -time——unless——” she looked at Martin, and for a moment seemed to be less -assured. Then she lifted her head. “No! _He_ wouldn’t—Roberts wouldn’t -dare! I’d better answer.” - -Drew entered and kissed Deane lightly on the cheek. - -“You’re lovely,” he said, holding her arm affectionately and extending -his left hand to Martin who, embarrassed, knew of nothing but to squeeze -the delicate, closed fingers. - -Drew smiled faintly and sat down, crossing his slender legs. - -“I just left Ella, poor girl,” he said, with a sigh. “She wouldn’t have a -doctor. So she called me.” - -Deane looked at him in surprise. - -“Ella sick? Why, she seemed very well last night. Should I see her?” - -“I shouldn’t bother,” said Drew, smiling faintly again. “I gave her a -bromide and devotedly held her hand till she went to sleep. She’ll be all -right in the morning.” - -“But what happened?” insisted Deane. - -Drew leaned forward and spoke more seriously. - -“I’m glad both of you left when you did,” he said. “Roberts drank -consistently—a thing he’s never done before, and left in a stagger, -vowing he would never see Ella again. He spoke rather madly in his -apartment, too. I stayed with him most of the night.” Drew sighed once -more. “Of course, both of you are to blame.” - -“It’s ridiculous!” said Deane, her dark eyes brilliant with anger. “Is -Roberts out of his mind?” - -Drew did not answer, but settling back in his chair, took from his pocket -a gold cigarette case inlaid with an exquisite Mosaic design in various -metals, opened it, and without offering its contents to the others, -selected a rather bulky cigarette which he lit at once, before returning -the case to his pocket. A singularly aromatic odor was first noticed -by Martin. He looked at Drew in surprise. Then a wisp of smoke floated -toward Deane who wrinkled her nose. - -“One of your disgusting cigarettes,” she said. “I don’t see why you smoke -them.” - -“It’s a beautiful herb,” replied Drew contentedly. “Martin understands -it.” - -“Of course,” said Martin. - -“Will you smoke?” Drew inquired of him, reaching for the case once more. - -Martin smiled slowly and shook his head. - -“But I can see it in your eyes,” persisted Drew. - -Deane looked at Martin excitedly, then turned to the other. - -“Please, Drew, don’t ever offer Martin hashish.” - -“Ah!” said Drew, slightly amused. “So you know!” Then, taking a long, -deep draw on the cigarette, he let the smoke escape in little puffs from -his mouth and nose. His attitude became more languorous. The timbre of -his voice changed and he sighed. “A quiet night,” he said. “My lovely -friends.... You _are_ lovely, aren’t you?” he continued, speaking -carefully. - -“Yes,” answered Martin, studied and frowning. “Lovely.” - -Deane reached over impulsively and laid her hand on Drew’s. - -“Won’t you put it out, darling?” she pleaded. “I hate to insist, but it -gives me a feeling of——” - -“Of apprehension,” supplied Drew, rising slowly and slowly crossing the -room to the open window. He tossed out the half-smoked cigarette, then -returned, partly on his tiptoes. - -“I wish you wouldn’t smoke like this,” said Deane quite urgently. “It -gives you bad dreams. You hate yourself, too.” - -Drew raised his hand with a listless movement. - -“Later—perhaps. But now everything is very sweet.” He smiled dreamily. -“This clarity, after my extreme confusion, forgives an old sin. An -image!—memories unfolding that bring a figure more alive than you.... A -splendid figure.... Burning with clandestine color.... Unfaithful!... He -tried, though, more than I....” Drew leaned back again, resting his head -against the chair. His lips were partly open and there was a flush of -pleasure upon the high oval of his cheek. - -Deane arose without a word and went into the kitchen. Martin imagined -that she was making coffee. As the aroma came into the living room, Drew -opened his eyes, looked at Martin and shivered. - -“A good awakening,” he said, smiling nervously. - -“Yes,” said Martin. “The cigarettes are mild.” - -“Too mild,” said Drew. “I should have eaten the salve, but I was afraid. -I was nervous from spending last night with Roberts. It was terrible to -see him act the way he did. He cried out once. It was like a bellow.” -Feeling slightly dizzy, Drew stopped talking for a moment and wiped his -forehead. - -Martin waited quietly. - -“This evening,” Drew continued, “I went to my bedroom and took the -jar from my cabinet, holding it as though it contained radium. I was -uncertain, as I always am on approaching this Nirvana; but to-night I was -afraid. As I removed the lid, exposing the ointment, its ungodly musk -affected my breathing. There was something sinister in its appearance. -I peered deeply into it, and the jelly seemed to glow and change from a -dark green to a paler color. It trembled and faded to a lighter shade, -and stayed that way. Then the odor poured afresh into my nostrils. I felt -staggered and closed the lid.” Drew shivered again, then relaxed in his -chair, while Martin watched him. - -Deane brought in three steaming cups of coffee. Martin drank his -hurriedly, taking the hot liquid in large swallows. Drew sipped his, -while Deane’s remained untouched. - -Seized with excitement after this fresh stimulant, Drew arose suddenly, -put down his cup, turned to Deane and said, “I must go. And I know you -will understand, Deane, if I ask Martin to leave with me.” With feverish -haste he put on his coat and Martin, with an expressive look at Deane, -followed him from the apartment. - -As Deane fastened the door after them she leaned upon it for a moment, -her forehead resting against the panel, her small hands tightly closed. - - * * * * * - -Drew and Martin walked swiftly up the street, for the cold night breeze -whipped in from the Atlantic. Martin turned down the brim of his hat and -put his hands into the pockets of his topcoat. Drew looked around at him. - -“Would you like to be at sea to-night?” he asked. - -“I was just thinking about it,” answered Martin. “There isn’t a bad night -on land but that I think of the men on ships.” - -The air seemed to exhilarate Drew and he spoke again, enthusiastically. - -“Will you answer a rather intimate question, Martin?” - -“If I can.” - -“Well, don’t be angry. But are all the stories that seamen tell—I mean -the tall tales—just fancy, or are they mostly true?” - -“That’s a trade secret,” said Martin thoughtfully, noticing that Drew’s -classical manner had become more feminine since they had left Deane’s. -Then, as though suddenly changing his mind, he added, “Yes, Drew. Most -of them are true. You don’t have to exaggerate or romance about the sea. -It gives you a bellyful whether you want it or not. Of course, all the -adventures that sailors tell about probably didn’t happen to them. But -they happened some place and to someone. I have a good collection of -tales I’ve swapped, and I couldn’t tell you right now the true ones from -the borrowed.” - -Drew took Martin by the sleeve and they came to a halt. There was a -curious, understanding expression in Drew’s eyes. - -“I like you very much,” he said. “Please don’t misunderstand me, Martin, -but I think a great deal of you. I’d like to know you better—to have your -friendship.” - -“You have my friendship, Drew.” Martin held out his hand and was -surprised at the other’s firm, steady clasp. - -Drew nodded his head in the direction of a subdued, blue glow on the -opposite corner. - -“There’s a cocktail lounge,” he said, “where once in a while I go when -I’m tired of routine. I’ve never taken anyone there before, but I’d like -you to come with me this evening. It’s very quiet—a place where one can -rest or think as he desires. Will you?” - -“I’d be glad to,” Martin answered simply, still wondering at Drew’s -eagerness. - -A waiter hurried to them as they entered. - -“Mr. Noland,” he said, bending his head slightly before Drew. Then, -glancing at Martin with mild, respectful curiosity, he led the two men to -a small booth in a remote corner of the lounge where he received their -order and left quietly. - -Martin was attracted by the room—its lighting, the suggestion of -avidity. Directly across from them, and near the wall, a fountain sent -up a soft golden spray from its center, around which individual columns -of multi-colored water rose and fell. A mural, hung just behind the -fountain, caught its indiscreet fires. There, the lights blended into a -seeming gradation of silver fungus until only the sharp blue antlers of a -stag, at the top of the painting, stood out thirstily over the water. - -Martin looked away from the fountain. Drew was watching him with a -reflective expression, with such a gentleness foreign to men’s eyes -that Martin was immediately intent. For there, in Drew, he saw the -central, fine equation between his friend and savage, weeping Lesbos. -The two united, defying by extreme cunning and deceitful fingers a -dogmatic scythe of science which uses the symbol X for one impossible of -definition. And what he saw beneath, caused Martin to tremble and lean -back in his seat, with his heart beating faster as though the secret had -been upon his lips or in his mind. However, that fever which comes upon -a man as he sights dimly before him the object of his life’s search—the -feeling that it might kill if the secret was discovered, left him -suddenly. Vaguely he knew that he had touched the edge of it, and that -was all. In one way he was glad that the revelation had not come to blind -him. He was not ready. Nor could he, by any trick he knew, even follow. -There were years before him, other trails to entice him, so he argued. -And as he opened his eyes, rather painfully, Drew, concerned and full of -question, brought him round again to sanity, and not a mind deliberately -drugged by the spin and shuttle of the fountain’s aimless _carrousel_. - -The waiter came at this moment and set the glasses upon the table. Even -the man’s crisp, white hair seemed a part of the scheme of the lounge, -Martin thought. Fancies, ridiculous and uncalled-for, occurred to him in -succession until he wished that he could stay quiet forever with Drew, -whom he trusted most of all in this irrepressible hysteria. However, the -waiter withdrew quickly enough, resting his hazel eyes only for a moment -upon Martin, who spoke to Drew with a restrained irritation. - -“Was this intended?” he asked. “It seems, Drew, to be something planned.” -He waved his hand impulsively. “All this,” he continued, “is native -to you and unfamiliar to me. It has—it has a quality—” Martin stopped -talking. - -Drew picked up his drink. - -“I suppose it does have what you say, or suggest,” he answered. “I’ve -felt it many times. But it was not defined to me before to-night. I -came here to rest, because it was restful; but I shall never come here -again, because you have given it a suggestion of intimate life which is -offensive. It wasn’t planned at all, Martin, and I was never native until -you said so.” Drew leaned forward frowning, puzzled. “What kind are you?” -he asked. “You, Martin, could vulgarize the very Church.” He sipped his -drink, although Martin left his own glass untouched. “Prosaic as it may -be,” Drew went on, “it is not myself with whom I’m concerned. It isn’t -myself, or Roberts, or even you that I am most deeply worried about. -It’s Deane.” He lifted a finger, decisive, commanding. “In her you have -found sweetness, tenderness and passion—a physical, well trained animal. -Don’t speak!” He held his finger warningly again as Martin’s brooding -shoulders straightened. “You’ve talked uncannily enough, Martin, to -make even me wonder. I love your thoughts—the upside down philosophy -that makes me laugh when I believed I could never laugh again. But -Martin, you surely won’t abuse this powerful—yes, this beautiful gift -with Deane. Don’t misunderstand me, I beg of you once more. It isn’t -evil, Martin, to use a weapon at your command. It isn’t really that -you’re a devilish anti-Christ, as I first thought.” Drew lowered his -voice, speaking almost frantically. “It may be that you are even Christ -himself. You have your Cross and finally you’ll rest there. For you are -no more invulnerable than the Man on Calvary, who under pressure—under -striated clouds asked for an end of it. Is there anyone _you_ can ask -in that intolerable moment?” Drew wiped his forehead, drank deeply and -spoke again, although he avoided Martin’s flaming eyes. “I repeat,” he -persisted, “‘that intolerable moment!’ And it matters very little whether -you consider me a fanatical, abusive priest, or—” and now the spray from -the fountain seemed to lean toward Drew. Heavy lines of moisture which -he failed to notice, covered his forehead. “Martin,” he said, “I know -Deane. I love her ‘in my fashion.’ I—I too, was taken from a medium of -ordinary happiness into this rarefied, spiritualistic land you understand -so well.” Unable to speak further, Drew brushed his handkerchief across -his eyes and placed his hands upon the table. To his astonishment—almost -to his grief, he saw them tightly gripped by Martin, who seemed to hover -over him, transfigured.... - -They got up and put on their coats. With surprise, they noticed that the -shutters of the lounge were drawn and that the bar was untended. Alone in -a corner, the white-haired waiter sat dozing. Drew pressed a bill into -the hand of the sleepy attendant and opened the door himself. Out in the -street the wind was blowing harder than ever and a pale green light clung -like a heavy paste to the eastern horizon. - - - - -_CHAPTER VIII_ - - -Martin left the typographical plant. He thought he was a funny one. Being -fired made him feel a little childish. It might be hurt or anger, or -it might be something more esoteric. He didn’t know. But his face was -colorless and his eyes gleamed unnaturally. - -“I guess it isn’t anything to sigh and fret about, ‘dear boy,’” he said. -“It was Roberts, of course; and I can’t buck him. This city’s even more -of a machine than I had thought.” He walked until he was thirsty, went -into a restaurant and had two cups of coffee. Then he walked some more. -He stopped in at another restaurant and tried to eat. He couldn’t. -So he had a third cup of coffee and decided to call up Roberts. The -conversation was pertinent. - -“It’s Martin Devaud. Is Mr. Roberts there?” - -“Hello, Martin. It’s myself.” - -“I’m fired. May I see you this evening?” - -“Come at six.” - -“Right.” And they hung up. - -Martin continued to walk. His throat was dry and he yawned frequently. -As evening approached he grew more and more nervous. Several times he -lost his bearings and with some difficulty he found Roberts’ street. In -the elevator, which was warm and a little close, he tried to keep himself -from shivering. - -Roberts was dressed in black trousers and a white shirt, starched, but -open at the collar. He greeted Martin extravagantly, then seeing his -pallor, so unnatural, he brought out whisky and soda. - -Martin held up his hand. - -“No soda,” he said. - -Roberts’ eloquent features absorbed at once the harshness of Martin’s -despair. He understood. Nevertheless, propriety made him ask, “Straight? -That’s dangerous.” - -“Straight, please. And it’s not half so dangerous just now for me as -being sober.” - -Roberts shrugged his shoulders. - -“You may take the bottle, if you care to, and lie down with it,” he -answered petulantly. - -Martin looked him straight in the eyes. - -“A drink will suffice,” he said. - -Roberts flamed and quieted and the color came again. - -Martin smiled a little maliciously as he watched him. - -“What a story, or picture!—if you wept in all that brilliance!” he said -calmly. - -Roberts poured his own glass to the brim with whisky and drank it before -he answered. His eyes were hot—completely without modulation. - -“Drink yours!” he commanded, pouring another. - -Martin took the glass to the window and threw it, whisky and all, into -the street. - -“May it kill!” he said, whiter-faced than ever. - -“You talked to me once of melodrama,” said Roberts acidly. “I’ve never -seen it so rampant, so unorthodox, so uncontrolled. I’ve had enough! Tell -me—tell me—or by God!——” - -“I want to know if you had me fired,” said Martin, simply. - -Roberts became placid at once. He waved his slender hands and, -half-closing his eyes, smiled patronizingly. - -“Surely you do not—” he began, when Martin cut him off. - -“Surely, hell. I wondered. I thought it was probable.” - -Roberts still watched him from under his lids. - -“I don’t understand.” - -“I said I’m fired.” - -“Well?” - -“I want to know why.” - -Roberts folded his hands. It was almost a gesture of dismissal. - -“I talked with your employer, Mr. Jackson,” he said. “The conversation, -I must say, was disappointing. He told me frankly that your work of late -had been lax.” Roberts cleared his throat. “I’ve been somewhat afraid of -that. You can’t burn the candle at both ends, Martin. The social and the -economic won’t mix.” - -“Roberts—save your platitudes for a darker night!” Martin was glaring at -him. “So that was really it! You intimated as much at one time.” - -Roberts went over to him, touching the back of Martin’s hand with -indescribable tenderness. - -“Are you tired enough now, my friend, to have a drink with the one man in -the world who sees you in your entirety?” he asked. - -“Yes. I’ll drink,” said Martin wearily, leaning back in a chair and -closing his eyes. He took the glass from Roberts, holding it loosely, and -drank from it without thinking. - -Roberts now put his hand on Martin’s head. - -“I have given my time to place you,” he said gently. “You would not -rebuke me for that.” - -Martin felt the lassitude of the whisky, of the words; yet some -fundamental stroke of his own blood kept him from acceptance. He seemed -to hear a bold, ancestral cry, and sat straighter. - -“You’re modern, Roberts. You have a modern sword.” - -“I’ve never hurt you, Martin. I’ve tried to help.” - -“Of course. But your body is too demanding.” - -“Meaning?——” - -“I won’t fence. I’ve seen an ugly mind—an inexpensive one.” - -“Devaud,” said Roberts, in a sharp, clear voice, “you don’t belong among -civilized people. One can’t talk to you decently without your making an -unpleasant issue. You’re a confounded savage and worse, because you -have the instruments of this superficial world, too. And all of your -cruelty—yes, you’re cruel!—and I suppose all of your vices are tucked -under your fine exterior. No wonder Deane is intrigued! But if she could -see you just as I see you now, with that brutish look in your eyes, -then——” - -Martin interrupted him. - -“Don’t mention her name,” he said, in a low, moody voice. - -Roberts moved away from him quickly. - -“Martin—did you make this appointment to build, or to destroy?” - -“Neither. I just wanted you to know that my understanding belongs to you.” - -“Then it’s the only thing that belongs to me.” Roberts spoke bitterly. -“Martin! For the last time I ask you to forget a cycle that has brought -you only unhappiness.” - -Martin got out of his chair. - -“You should never try to be clever with me, Roberts. I respect the frank -demands of the body. Petty intrigues disgust me. Your intricate desires -have overruled your intelligence. As an invert I respected you. As a -subverter I find you intolerable.” - -Roberts walked toward him, motioning, his head shaking. His shining black -hair fell across his face which had turned from red to a lurid purple. -The white part of his eyes took on the same color. His appearance was -that of some monster in a fable. - -“I’ll—” he said, “I’ll not—I’ll not—” his head bobbed up and down. “I -will never let you——” - -“You’re prodding yourself sick,” said Martin in disgust. “You’re jarring -the very devil out of yourself,” he flung at him and left the room, his -shoulders swaying. - -Martin went to a liquor store and bought a gallon of wine. In his room, -he sat down on the edge of the bed, kicked off his shoes and began to -drink. Half-drunken, he lay back and soon fell asleep. - -He awoke in the late morning. He knew his position. The contact had been -broken. Sick from the evening’s drinking he got out of bed and looked at -his face in the mirror. His cheeks were pale and there was an unhealthy -expression in his eyes. He felt his heart. Its methodical, heavy beat -disturbed him. He poured a glass of wine and drank it swiftly. The nerves -deadened. His apprehension died and he stood again before the mirror, -regarding himself calmly. He shaved and dressed, took another glass of -wine and went out, going directly to the typographical plant. - -His former employer was writing. Martin looked at him vaguely, hesitating -before his desk. - -“What is it, young man?” asked Jackson, glancing up with impatience. - -“No one told me why I was fired,” said Martin indistinctly. “Will there -be anything later?” - -His condition seemed a little pitiable to Jackson, although, the -employer told himself, such individualities really belonged outside the -mathematical régime of commerce. One had to dispose of them accordingly. - -“There will be nothing later,” he stated firmly. “You were inefficient. I -can see no reason for returning you to this Company.” - -“I want to work,” said Martin. “That’s the reason.” His fingers rubbed -the top of the desk and he looked unsteadily at the man behind it. - -Jackson arose. - -“You’re drunk, Devaud,” he said. “It is not a question of personalities. -Good-day.” - -Martin gave him a perplexed look. The impeccable tailoring of his -employer’s suit had suddenly become offensive to him. Completely -bewildered by this strange revulsion, Martin turned and walked out of the -room. - -“Good-day,” he said, and went down the steps and out into the street. -“Good-day,” he kept repeating into the ears of astonished passers-by. -He stopped, after he had wandered awhile, before a restaurant; for he -smelled the aroma of coffee. Then he shook his fist at the window. - -“_That_ won’t split this illness!” he said, and walked on, mumbling. - -In his room he sat down once more on the edge of the bed. His mind, -levitated by wine and discouragement, projected itself. Images rose -before him. Secretive, luxurious women were in his fantasy. He drank -again and went to bed. He slept, awakened, washed his face and slept -once more, reality and the dream becoming as one. Day and night passed. - -The sun rose, slanted, fell over the windowsill and crept up the bed into -Martin’s eyes. He awakened, his heart pounding. He stood up and finished -the last of the wine. - -“Internal application only!” he observed. Repeatedly the mirror drew -him. “Poison if taken externally,” he continued amiably; then seeing the -foolish expression on his face, turned away in disgust. - -He looked at himself again. - -“Emancipation!” he shouted. “To business! To weaving, undecipherable sex -and even my own hot mouth!” In amazement he looked into the crypt of his -eyes. That soft sound of weeping.... “From the ceiling,” he cried. “Not -from these French fried lips!” He went back to bed. - -In a dream he placed his hand on his hard body. - -“The unborn,” he whispered, breaking his hand on himself. “Modest -child of onanism.... One daughter who will not ride the world on her -ruby-jeweled bird’s nest!... One lad who will not ride the world on a -bird’s nest!” - -He awoke and looked at the ceiling. The room was death. Outside, snow -was falling, flakes padding the window. He stared into the darkness. To -escape without struggle—his body falling—and then, rest—infinitely deep -and sweet.... His imagination stretched steeply into awareness. Not into -chaos or unreality. The wind pressed snow on the window, through the -window and into his arms. He felt the cold. Holding his hands into the -air, he prayed.... - -“God!” - -No bright arm of light; no sound of wings. It was four in the morning -and his terror had grown to a deadening satisfaction. The rose shadows -of steepled city buildings at night rang dimly in his court, their inner -warmth full of promise and engaging noise. He looked out of the window, -and shook his head. - -“Too young and stupid, my infantile prince,” he said, and touched the -gooseflesh on his arm, kissing with faint disdain its embarrassed nubs. -“Back to bed again to sleep and jump like a poisoned cat.” And another -day waved her dreaming, blue hands, regretfully—— - -Martin knew an alternative in that purple morning. A gun—the shot—the -quick flutter of his hand. - -“No,” he whispered. “Too demure. Fruitful, but demure.” - -Outside, the sun blended into trucks and the yapping noise of turning -wheels. He dressed and went into the street, stopping at the nearest bar. -And strangely, in all his tiredness and fear, arose the man as he had -been—straight from the ocean, with clear eyes that had watched the sea so -often, and with hand half-raised as though holding the helm of his ship. -It was momentary; but the bartender stood looking at him quietly and with -respect. - -“A Guinness’s Stout,” said Martin. - -“A nip or a pint, sir?” asked the man. - -“A nip and a pint.” - -The black liquid hung to Martin’s glass as he raised it to his lips. The -stout ran through his dry throat and into his stomach, washing away the -starved slime. It spanged against his knotted intestines, loosening their -disgusted quiver. It broke the cordy fold of nervous tissue. - -Martin bent over the bar, touched by its rustic intimacy. Out of its -shining, wooden face arose the image of Deane, slim-throated, filling the -mist. She moved closer. Martin mused over the bar and drank, and drank -again. The liquor sank to his nerves and he awoke. - -Deane forgotten?... Her bell-like gown drifting over his teeth—sprung -from the fog—outlined in the smoke of his thoughts.... - -The subway was crowded. Meaty faces lined in pink, pale array before -him. A woman, mother of too many, rubbed a glove over her nose, worry -misting her eyes, a dustpan supporting her neck. Across from her perched -a she-gazelle on meatless haunches, hair and breasts correctly arranged. -The train stopped and Martin went up the stairs into the cold wind. He -entered a building and walked down the hall to Deane’s apartment. - -She opened the door and stood before him, a bright, tremulous blur. He -swayed a little and she caught him by the shoulder, assisting him into -the room. He tried to stand straight, smiling gently through his brackish -eyes. - -“It’s all right, Deane, but I can’t stop my mind,” he said. “I can’t -stop it from turning.” He licked the dry scale of his lips. “I can’t do -it.” He closed his eyes tightly to keep in the moisture and talked on -rapidly, glibly. - -From the window came the city lights. Deane sat in a chair, brooding, a -frightened look on her face; for Martin’s hysteria grew in the strength -of evening. His motions became more selfish. Every idea turned upon -itself. - -“Somewhere,” he said, “there is a worm. A relentless worm canting my -words, embarrassing me—deep, vicious and blinding.” - -“What do you want me to do, Martin?” All of Deane’s tolerance—her -understanding and affection were contained in this question; but he was -deafened with pain and apprehension and all the seeds of disaster which -fall, germinate and grow so swiftly in certain poisonous gardens. He put -his hand across his face. - -“Let’s get a doctor,” he said. “A magical doctor ... a sorcerer ... a -doctor for a sorcerer.” - -Deane nodded her head. And if he could have seen her then, in the gown he -loved and with all the concern in her eyes, it might have taken him from -this evil spell. But he was blind and sick and walked like a dead man; -while in his agony he cried, “No! Nothing! Get nothing!” Tormented, he -went across the room to her, and as he faltered, Deane caught him in her -arms. - - - - -_CHAPTER IX_ - - -Martin felt the hum of an elevator, fresh air in his face and the -movement of an automobile. He knew that he was talking too much to an -individual he’d never seen before, and suddenly found himself in a -long bright corridor that smelled of medicine. He was helped into a -semi-darkened room and felt a glass between his lips. He thought of -Roberts, swallowed and choked. - -“It’s ether,” he said. - -“No, it isn’t,” said the nurse, standing by him and trying to get him -into bed. “It will be good for you.” - -Martin saw her for the first time. Then he felt himself falling. The -nurse steadied him, and suddenly everything was clear. He felt well, -stimulated. He wanted to talk some more. - -“So! Martin finally reaches Hell! Our pathological bundle of yeast -becomes animate in Bedlam!” - -“_Won’t_ you get into bed?” asked the nurse. “You will be sleepy in a -minute.” - -“All right.” He stood up, swaying. “Martin in Hell. Being tucked in bed -by an angel with wide hips. Coasting to sleep with a bellyful of ether. -A true Nirvana for a true aesthete.” He stopped talking. Again hysteria -struck him. But this time it was soft and languorous and he held it -tightly as it moved in his groin. His breathing was quiet. - -The nurse sat beside him in the darkened room. He breathed slowly now, -beginning to jerk and posture. He held his hand in the air as though -emphasizing a dream. - -In the early morning he awakened. His hand moved over the side of the -bed, reaching for a bottle of wine. His fingers went back and forth over -the rug. Then he opened his eyes and saw the woman sitting beside him. - -“Are you my nurse?” he asked. - -“Yes, I’m your nurse. Won’t you go back to sleep?” - -“I hurt,” said Martin. “I hurt all over, but my back is the worst. And I -need a drink.” - -“What would you like?” - -“Whisky. A big one.” - -“I’ll get your medication,” said the girl, and left the room. - -Martin looked around him. A hospital—neurotherapy; adjacent to a -madhouse! Weakened your resistance in one and shipped you into the other! -His body ached and his mind still turned. On with the medication!—and -then what? From dipsomania to dope in twelve treatments. Bring on the -bed-straps. Damned efficient nurse, that one—watching him jump around. -Patient. If only his back wouldn’t hurt so terribly. Must be the kidneys. -Need flushing. Why not use a plunger? Imagine that immaculate nurse -astride him, pounding his gizzard with a plunger! - -The nurse returned with two glasses. One was full of orange juice. The -other she held away from her nose. - -“More ether?” asked Martin. - -“It isn’t.” - -“Well, ether or not—down the hatch!” And taking a deep breath he -swallowed. - -The nurse steadied him once more and he pressed his head into her breast, -breathing sharply, like a man struck in the throat. He allowed himself to -tremble. His feelings changed from sick horror to quietude and a faint -elation. He let his head drop on the pillow. This time the paraldehyde -brought relief, but no immediate sleep. Words kept ringing in his mind -and he talked on, without cessation. The nurse listened to him, laughing -occasionally. In the morning’s light, Martin slept. - -When he awoke, the nurse was gone. He was alone on a bridge with -madmen. He was afraid. Afraid of what? Afraid of fear. A word sounded -in his mind—phobiaphobia, fear of fear. Nothing tangible to fight. The -deep-seated root of the worm in his imagination. His feeling of isolation -became complete, unbearable. He got out of bed and walked into the hall. -A student nurse looked warily at him as he approached—unshaven, with -bloodshot eyes, his unfastened robe trailing. - -“Where’s the head nurse?” he asked. “Where is she?” - -“Here I am.” - -Martin turned on her, white faced and trembling. - -“For God’s sake, nurse. Is this a hospital? Get me a drink. Get me -something. And don’t leave me alone.” - -She helped him into bed and brought the same medication. Sober, -terror-stricken, Martin could not face the shock of the incredible drug. -The nurse held him, and again Martin drank, feeling the same shudder and -movement of the deep-seated tissue. He reached out and felt the woman’s -arms. A sharp, sweet odor in his nose prolonged his trembling. The nurse -wrapped a blanket around him, leaned over and kissed his damp forehead. -Martin rested, watching her move quietly around the room. Was her kiss a -gesture of sympathy? He met her gentle brown eyes and knew she understood. - -The greater part of the next two days and nights he slept, only awakening -to drink the bright, relieving poison. The third day he remembered -Deane—her laugh, the surge of her skirts; and each thought was a torment. - -That evening two psychiatrists came to talk with him. One, his own -doctor, young and solemn; the other, the consulting physician, mature, -shrewd, Olympian. Martin explained his fears, bringing up the residue of -his experiences. During his story he caught fragments of remarks from the -older man. Suggestive words such as _masochism_ and _sadism_ set fire to -his imagination. When they left him without comment he was more lonely -and fearful than before. In desperation he entered deeper into his mind, -finding new horror with each analysis. By night the momentum had grown to -such an active fear that the nurse did not dare leave the room. Martin -followed her with his eyes. - -The special night nurse came on duty, fresh, buxom and cheerful. Martin -drew new hope out of her vitality. As he watched her straightening his -bed he felt resentment at his own weakness. What was he?—to be fussed -over and coddled like an old dog. He watched the strong shanks of the -girl move steadily around the room. A curious thought entered his -mind and he laughed. The nurse turned and looked at him, fearing new -hallucinations. - -“No,” said Martin, “I’m not hysterical. Come here and sit on the bed.” - -“I can’t,” said the girl. - -“Well, then,” said Martin, “pull that chair closer and sit here.” - -She did as he requested, and Martin reached out for her hand. It was soft -and warm. He pressed it tightly, looking into her eyes. The girl’s cheeks -flushed but she did not pull away. Martin looked up at the ceiling, each -fresh thought bringing anger—the keen, strong happiness of anger. This -young animal beside him had given him a new perspective. He turned again -to the nurse and held her hand more tightly, stroking it, and explaining -his movements with his eyes. He reached out for her waist and smiled to -see her pull away. She was afraid. Not he. What did he have to be afraid -of? Phobiaphobia? How foolish! This complex, that complex—— - -“Listen, nurse,” he said. “I’m cured.” - -“Yes. You seem to be much better.” - -“Better nothing!” cried Martin. “I’m well. There isn’t anything wrong -with me. I was drunk.” - -The girl stared at him for a moment, then put her hand on his shoulder. - -“I’ve never believed the things you’ve told me,” she said. “At first, I -thought there was something a little bit—” Her cheeks turned red and she -laughed. “But now, I know you’re just a normal man.” - -Martin thought of the woman he loved. Deane! He could go to Deane now. -There was nothing wrong. He thought of his doctors. Surely they had -known. They had left him with that fear—its implication of neuroses and -reference to disgusting complexities. How many lay that night, fed with -bromides and sedatives; crucified on theories! - -In the morning when the psychiatrists returned, Martin raised his head -from the pillow. - -“Good morning.” - -The young doctor nodded his head briefly, blinked his eyes and faced the -light from the window, his face expressionless. - -“Good morning. Did you sleep?” asked the older physician, in a -perfunctory tone. - -“Very well indeed,” Martin said. Then sitting up a little straighter, -he added, “Doctor! I don’t want to anticipate a diagnosis, but I’m not -sick. You understand that I merely gave a history of the fantasies and -sublimated desires that are in all our minds, but which we are rarely -dyspeptic enough to publicize.” - -The older doctor watched him furtively. Martin saw that he resembled a -spider, and grinning to himself, thought that there were probably a few -cobwebs about him. But in the younger doctor’s eyes he saw concern and -liking, and even the faint touch of friendship. - -“What do you mean?” asked the older man at last. - -Martin climbed out of bed, put on his robe and stood before the -consulting psychiatrist. - -“You understand.” - -“You have been a child,” said the physician sternly. - -“You understand,” repeated Martin. - -The psychiatrist took firm hold of his shoulders. There were furious -lights about the man—not understanding; merely curiosity and hatred for -something unintelligible. He tightened his grasp on Martin’s shoulders, -shook his head angrily and stormed out of the room. But the younger -doctor, with all the suns between his eyes, observed in formula Martin’s -pulse and all the rest of it, dismissing his patient with a friendly, -sympathetic nod as soon as he could. - -When Martin left the hospital it was snowing. The medication had -destroyed his orientation. He leaned against the wall of the building -for a moment, then tried to walk straight while he looked for a taxi. - -Inside the cab he wrapped his coat about him and held his ankles from the -cold air. Sick from the drugs and weak from lack of food, he thought once -more of Deane and smiled. He was tired, but he had won. - -When he arrived at the apartment he stopped just inside the door. There -was a woman sitting in a chair. Who was she? Where was Deane? Was this -woman alive? For her face was pale, and her eyes, too large, too dark, -seemed to have lost all comprehension. - -“What is wrong?” he asked excitedly. “What is it?” - -Deane did not answer but sank down in her chair, covering her face with -hands that trembled. - -Martin felt sick. The air in the room suffocated him. - -“Deane! It’s Martin!” he cried. - -Her hands dropped to her lap. - -“I talked with your doctors,” she answered simply. “I talked with them -for two hours. I was ashamed—humiliated.” - -“Ashamed of what? Ashamed of me? Why! I’m all right now!” - -“I spoke with your doctors,” Deane repeated, as though in fatal -acceptance. “It was horrible.” - -Martin took off his coat. He had on no shirt. He looked past Deane for a -moment, leaning heavily against the wall. - -“They have taken my girl.” He spoke bitterly. Then in a louder, more -distracted voice, he repeated—“_They have taken my girl._” - -He continued to look about him as though in a daze. - -“What have they done to you?” he kept asking. “Damn them! Collaborators -with madhouses—sucking my giddy ideas, engendering the malingerer. -They’ve doped you with psychological jargon, hypnotized you with -fine phrases.... Breeders of hypochondriacs! I’m not afraid of them -any longer, I have nothing but contempt for them. I wanted the clear -advice of mature, impersonal intellects, and I meet with personal -vindictiveness.” - -“They said you have a persecution complex,” replied Deane. “They tried to -help you.” Her throat was dry and the room was spinning round. - -“‘Persecution complex!’” repeated Martin with a contemptuous gesture. -“It’s contagious. It’s a disease—an indiscriminate application of words -typing an individual, placing him in a box, granting him the elasticity -of brick. They are dealing with humanity—not with bricks. What do these -rigid intellectualists know definitely, after all? Stumbling about in the -most infantile science of the lot. A befuddled group of astrologers of -the mind. The more competent admit they know little—admit that while they -do the best they can, that often they must strike out blindly, hoping -that nature will effect a cure.” - -Deane’s eyes did not change; but the delicate lids, with their heavy -lashes, gave a sudden, nervous flicker. What was this perspiring man -talking about? She still felt sick. He didn’t have on a shirt. If she -could only rest. She knew that her mind was bleeding. Each of Martin’s -words opened a new point in her brain. - -“They are dangerous because they are clever,” he went on. “And some of -them are diabolical. Theirs is a subtle lechery. They love this parade of -erotics. Orgasms by proxy! Intelligent, perverted and ruthless!” - -Deane now looked steadily at him. The ice locking her mind moved -restlessly. - -“They do good, Martin. Not everyone plays with love and pain the way you -do.” - -“Let me rest, Deane. I want to rest.” He leaned for a moment against -the divan and then got up. “You’re the only one I care about,” he -said wearily. “Can these ponderous technicians, with their burden of -world-pain give you happiness? Can you let their hard lines of conduct, -which apply to the diseased, disturb our concept of life? Top-heavy and -non-elastic—surely they cannot appeal to your ideas!” - -Deane knew that he was splendid in his agony. She wanted to kiss his -cheeks. She wanted to forget his tiredness, his indictment of psychiatry. -She felt that his imaginings were unfair; untrue; those of a sick man. -She knew that he had talked bravely and fought desperately for her. She -felt all these things. But she stood up and turned away. - -Martin knew. He put on his coat and smiled at her. He wanted to tell her -that he loved her. Instead, he left the apartment. - - - - -_CHAPTER X_ - - -Rio went down to the Seaman’s Institute for breakfast. He had come to a -conclusion about Martin. He felt that it was useless to look for him. And -Rio needed the sea. It would be easy to get a ship. - -The Mediterranean?—Algiers on a hot night, a skiff rubbing its brown -keel on a plaque of sand. Turpentine.... South America?—Through the deep -night wind one single light on Tierra del Fuego, an invalid blonde on the -cruise ship, port of Rio.... Intercoastal?—The French “Babee” Quarter in -Cristobal, water changing under the heat. - -Rio scuffed his shoes on the concrete floor and looked up moodily. Then -he saw him. Martin was sitting alone at one of the small tables. Rio -pushed back his chair and walked over to him. - -“Well,” he said, looking at Martin’s white face. “Well.” - -“Hello, Rio.” Martin raised his cup, but the coffee spilled before it -reached his lips, and without drinking, he replaced the cup on the table. - -“You’re a fine guy,” Rio was frowning. - -“Yes.” - -“Try again.” - -“No.” - -Rio took his arm and they went into the street. In Rio’s hotel, Martin -lay down on the bed. The other sat beside him. - -“You ain’t quite so funny now,” said Rio. - -Martin nodded. - -“Where you been?” - -Martin raised himself on his elbow. - -“I’ve been playing bats with a visitor from Saturn. You know it has many -moons. The visitor told me all about them.” - -“Yeah,” said Rio dryly. “You only got one. But it ought to be kicked.” - -“It has been,” said Martin. - -“You son-of-a-bitch.” - -Martin couldn’t manage sympathy and started to cry. He didn’t make -any noise and there were no tears. There was just a choking, helpless -movement as he looked steadily at his friend. - -Rio got up, lit a cigarette, then sat down once more on the bed and put -the cigarette between Martin’s lips. - -“I know all about it, buddy,” he said. “Once in Dairen I piled off a -ship....” He looked away as dreamily as a big ape. - -Martin laughed inside to see this fellow trying to be tender, but he -listened to the story and it made him feel better. Finally he sat up. - -“One night in the tropics, Rio, you told me I wasn’t a sailor. I knew you -were right, so when we came into New York I got off. I went on Relief and -met a man named Roberts at the Employment Station. He was intelligent and -interesting, but he was like this—” Martin held out his arms. - -Rio nodded. - -“However, that didn’t make any difference,” Martin continued, lying down -again. “And later, he got me a job.” - -“Now ain’t that pretty,” said Rio. - -“He got me a job,” Martin went on, “and asked me up to his place. Anyway, -to make this a good yarn, along came the girl. I liked her. Roberts’ -vanity was hurt. Perhaps he even liked me. But I thought I loved the -girl.” - -“You do.” - -“All right, then. I do.” - -“So?” - -“So Roberts had me fired.” - -“So?” - -“I got drunk and the girl told me I was through.” - -“You weak punk,” said Rio. - -Martin hit him in the face. It was a glancing blow off Rio’s nose and -there wasn’t any drive behind it. He tried to get in another one, but Rio -shoved him back on the bed and held his shoulders down. Martin saw that -the big sailor was grinning. - -“It’s all right, buddy,” said Rio. “How about some food?” - -Martin looked at his friend’s nose. There was a trickle of blood coming -from it. - -“All right,” he said, still watching the blood which was dripping over -Rio’s lip. - -“Here’s a couple of nickels,” said Rio, laying a bill on the bed. “Get -some sleep and some food.” - -Martin sat up again. - -“Where are you going?” - -“Down to the docks.” - -“What ship?” - -“The _Steeldeer_.” - -“Where’s she going?” - -“Around the Loop.” - -“Any chance to make her?” - -“The crew’s signed on.” - -“I’m sorry to see you go.” Martin couldn’t stop the hurt in his voice. - -“I ain’t goin’,” said Rio, not looking at him. He left the room without -further explanation and Martin went to sleep. - - * * * * * - -It was Saturday afternoon and the office force at the Employment Station -had gone home. Roberts alone remained. He was writing when he heard -someone come in. He did not look up. - -“My name’s Rio.” - -The adviser threw down his pencil. - -“I remember you,” he said, regarding the man in front of him with intense -annoyance, “I might add—unfortunately. I have no desire to see you. I -have not seen your friend.” - -“But Mr. Roberts. I got some news. I seen him. I seen Martin, the -cripple.” The big sailor laughed. “He was thin, at that.” - -Roberts went around the desk and faced Rio. - -“Get out,” he said. - -“But Mr. Roberts!” Rio was still smiling. “I like you.” He rubbed his -face gently against Roberts’, who moved back in astonishment and disgust. - -“I said, _get out_!” The adviser spoke between his teeth. - -“But I like you, Mister.” Rio put one hand back of Roberts’ neck and the -other across his cheekbones. The adviser tried to move but the pressure -stopped him. He stood quietly, his eyes looking frantically back and -forth, the color in his cheeks flickering. Rio squeezed harder. Above the -hand on his face Roberts could see his torturer dimly. The pain changed -to lassitude and Roberts wasn’t afraid anymore. He remembered that he had -dropped his Derby on the street a night or two ago. He had intended to -send it to the cleaner’s, but had forgotten it. He could not condone such -negligence. Then he went to sleep. - -Rio looked at the man he was holding. Roberts reminded him of an old -sailing vessel on which he’d once made a trip. She’d struck a reef off -Cocos Island. Rio had watched the ship from the beach. Her stern was up -and her sails dead. A red anchor light flickered like this man’s eyes -before she sank in shoal water. - -He carried Roberts to a chair behind the desk. Then he left the -Employment Station, went to a phone booth and looked up Deane Idara’s -address. - - * * * * * - -At the Employment Station Roberts heard someone in the hall. He tried to -open his eyes, although it didn’t make any difference. It was probably -that fellow returning to make sure that he had killed him.... Again came -the strange fancies. It seemed to Roberts that he was chasing his Derby -which was now being driven violently down the dusty street by the wind. -Thump—thump—thump it went along the sidewalk, and at each corner, when he -thought he had caught up with it, the wind would rise, and he would have -to dash after the hat, trying desperately to retrieve it before the wind -got hold of it again. “The cleaner can never make it right now,” he kept -thinking dismally. “The dirt will be ground into it.” And once more, the -hat made funny, hollow-sounding noises as it turned over and over on the -pavement. Suddenly the Derby changed shape—growing enormous, building -out misshapen shoulders, becoming a terrifying bulk which turned on him. -Stricken with horror, Roberts fled before the onslaught of the monster. -Thump—thump—thump— A janitor walked into the room. - -“Mr. Roberts!” he cried. “Mr. Roberts!” He ran to the telephone and tried -to dial the operator, but his hands were shaking too much. - -The adviser knew how he looked. He knew that his mouth was open. -Perspiration was pouring from his face and hands. He fought off the -darkness. He got his mouth closed. With consciousness came pain—a -sharpness at the base of his neck that made him sick. - -“Leave the phone,” he commanded sternly. - -The janitor hesitated. - -“Leave the phone,” Roberts repeated. He could move his arms now and was -able to sit straighter in his chair. - -The janitor picked up his broom, looked at the adviser again and started -sweeping. Roberts was writing when the janitor left. - - * * * * * - -Rio got out of the elevator and was approaching Deane’s apartment when -an elegantly dressed young man stepped from her door, closing it behind -him. The sailor’s anger rose at the thought that this woman should betray -his friend, as so it seemed. And when the two men neared each other in -the hall they both hesitated as if by mutual agreement—Rio, still in -his murderous rage, Drew in curiosity. They were barely moving as they -started to pass each other. Rio scowled, then stopped a moment to stare -at the other, who merely lifted his eyebrows and looked at the small -bouquet in his own lapel, smiling as if he had a notion. Rio’s face -became red. Thoroughly embarrassed at his mistake, he could not help -but smile back. His healthy, undisciplined grin allayed any possible -apprehension on the part of Drew who continued down the hall. - -Rio found Deane alone. He thought he had never seen a woman so foreign -to him—so sweetly unattainable that for one slow instant his deep native -blood rebelled, reached out in mind, then caught itself. He held his cap -when he sat down. - -“I won’t be long, Mrs. Idara,” he said. “My name’s Rio.” - -“Martin has mentioned you, Rio,” answered Deane. “I thought it was you.” - -The big sailor glared at her. - -“I just left Martin. He’s sick.” - -“I know.” Deane looked away. - -“I’d help him, Mrs. Idara. But he don’t need me.” - -“He doesn’t need anyone but himself, Rio.” - -“He needs a good woman,” answered Rio coldly. - -Deane looked straight at him. - -“That is—a stupid one?” she asked. - -For a moment Rio stared at her helplessly. - -“You’re right,” he said at last. “I can’t talk. But Mrs. Idara, Martin -ain’t the first to break his neck over a woman—only mine died, and her -skin wasn’t your color.” - -“I’m sorry, Rio. I’m sorry it had to happen to you.” Deane made a little -gesture of sympathy. - -Rio thrust his head forward. - -“That’d work better on a live man,” he said bluntly. - -“Is Martin alive?” Deane spoke as if to herself. - -“He’s crazy,” answered Rio, “but he ain’t dead. And he never lost all his -bearings till he met you. He even handled Roberts.” - -Deane was astonished. - -“You know Mr. Roberts?” - -Rio twirled his cap in his hand. - -“Yes, ma’am. He’s a friend of mine.” - -“You’re a friend of both Martin and Roberts?” Deane asked incredulously. - -“I can get along with anybody.” Rio looked at her and some of his hatred -appeared in his eyes. - -“You love Martin very much, don’t you, Rio?” - -“Maybe. He said so one night. The way you and him throw that word around, -though, it means anything.” - -“I intended it to be a good word, Rio—a brave word.” - -Rio grinned. Deane thought it was the strongest, most vicious expression -she had ever seen. She wasn’t afraid, but such clear hatred made her -hesitate. - -“Rio,” she said finally, “I love Martin. But I won’t let him escape the -world. It isn’t fear that makes him try it, but he has a quality of -evasiveness that clears him from all reality. It has been convenient for -him at times, but some day it will destroy him. I love him too much to -let this happen.” Deane was tired. She felt older. She didn’t even know -that her eyes were full of tears. - -Rio stopped smiling and stared at the floor. Suddenly he got up and went -over to her. - -“I made a mistake,” he said. - -He put on his cap and Deane walked to the door with him. - -“Rio,” she touched his arm, “tell Martin I need to see him. Will you?” - -“I’ll tell him, Mrs. Idara.” Deane’s hand against his arm upset him. He -wanted to kiss her. That moment he hated Martin. “I’ll tell him,” he -repeated, and walked down the hall, looking surprised. - - * * * * * - -Martin was sleeping when Rio returned. He awakened and saw the big sailor -looking down at him. - -“What’s the news?” he asked. - -“I seen Mrs. Idara. She wants to talk to you.” - -“You saw Deane?” Martin sat up. - -“She wants to talk to you,” Rio repeated. - -“You’re high-handed.” Martin shook his head. “What about the _Steeldeer_, -now that you’ve seen me over the bumps?” - -“You ain’t over the bumps, and I don’t want the _Steeldeer_. There’s a -boomer in next week, and no goo-goos in the messroom. I’ll see then.” - -Martin tried to hide his embarrassment. - -“Unaccustomed as I am—” he began. - -“Stow it,” interrupted Rio, jamming his cap on his head. “You got a job. -I’ll see you later.” - -“That’s right,” said Martin. He got out of bed and put on his coat. Then -he stood looking solemnly at his friend. “I’ll probably be back next -week—or sooner——” - -“You better go.” - -Martin kept looking at him. Then, without speaking further, he turned -suddenly, went to the door and walked out. - -When Rio could no longer hear his footsteps he sat down on the bed and -lit a cigarette, but put it out immediately and carefully laid it on the -washstand. For awhile he paced back and forth in his room. Then he went -down to the desk and called out to the woman behind it. - -“Where’s the Brat, Rosie?” he asked. - - * * * * * - -Rio left the Brat and went to the waterfront. The salt air, the breeze -and the innocuous drainage of people took away some of his disgust. The -_Comber_, bound for Buenos Aires, was tied up at Pier V 9. A watchman -stopped Rio at the gate. - -“Hold off,” he said roughly. “What’s it from you?” - -“Flowers for the shore gang,” said Rio, in a high voice. - -The watchman laughed. - -“Oh. It’s you, eh?” He passed his hand over the gray stubble on his chin. -“I figured you’d be headin’ south about this time.” - -“Who’s the mate, Watch?” asked Rio, who was now grinning. - -“The same baby they had last trip,” answered the watchman, spitting abeam -of the wind. - -“Thanks, Cap,” said Rio. He went through the warehouse to the pier and -started up the gangplank. A mess-boy, flour covering his shoulders, cried -“Gangway!” Rio twisted past him, indifferently brushing his sleeve where -the boy had bumped into him. At the top of the plank Rio called to the -quartermaster. “Where’s the mate?” - -“Up at No. 2.” - -Rio started forward, then turned and went aft to the last house -’midships. He opened the door of the sailors’ messroom and walked in. -A few men were sitting around the table which was covered with dirty -oilcloth. They were drinking coffee. One of them got up. - -“Hello, Rio. I ain’t seen you since you broke your wrist over the Old -Man’s head in the Channel.” The sailor laughed. “From bridge to brig in -one trip.” He rubbed his head with tattooed fingers while the crimson -lady, dotted on his heavy forearm, danced. The printed line, ROTTERDAM -GERTIE, under the figure, stretched as wide as the lady’s hips. - -“It wasn’t a bad trip, Joe,” answered Rio. “The brig’s better’n the -chainlocker.” He looked suddenly interested. “How’d the Old Man make out?” - -“I dunno. The last I seen him was when we tied up at Rotterdam. They was -packin’ him off down the Lekhaven.” - -“Down the Lekhaven, eh?” Rio looked grim. “His bones’d set of themselves -on the Schiedamsche Dyk.” - -Joe waved the remark aside. - -“What happened to you, Rio?” - -“They broke me, and let it go at that.” - -“No more brass on your shoulders then.” - -“I’d rather polish it than wear it.” - -“Are you goin’ to ship on this?” - -“Don’t know. Who’s the bos’n?” - -“I am. Seventy-five dollars, my own boy and radio.” - -“Company man, Joe?” - -“Yeah. I never pass up this chicory.” The bos’n poured more coffee. “Have -some,” he said. - -Rio looked around the messroom. He saw the college boys staring at him, -the flies on the wall and a cockroach settled under the percolator. - -“Take it, Joe,” he said. “And my compliments to B.A.” - -The bos’n followed him out of the messroom and walked beside him on the -pier. - -“They’re all the same, Rio,” he said, a little sadly. “The ships, the -turnips and the crew. By God!—I won’t rot on shore, though.” - -“I won’t neither,” said Rio. “I’ll go back sometime.” - -They were passing a waterfront cafe. Its sign read: beer parlour. Joe -pulled Rio inside and they sat down at a table. - -“We shipped together for a long time,” said the bos’n. “There’s somethin’ -eatin’ you. Drink up and get it off your chest.” - -Rio raised his glass and set it down empty. Joe followed and waved his -red hand at the waitress. - -“A head on two,” he said. - -Rio watched the girl pour the beer. - -“I don’t figure it myself, Joe.” - -“Drink up. Drink up and get it off your chest.” - -“Well, my shipmate, last trip, was a queer one. I don’t mean there was -funny business. I never knew nobody like him. He wasn’t no sailor, and -sometimes I thought he was a little off. I never felt like that before, -and it was all jam. He didn’t know how to take care of himself; so when -he piled off in New York I knew he was in for it. I followed him and he -was all over the town. He met a fag who got him a job. Then he met a girl -and fell in love with her. The fag had him fired, and he went off the -deep end. He got drunk and the girl threw him over. I found him at the -Doghouse. I got hold of the fag and fixed him up a little and went to the -girl’s place. And then—” Rio stopped and looked at the beer. - -“Get it off your chest,” said Joe, and the tattooed ring on his -forefinger turned an evil blue in the dim light. - -Rio took a deep draught before he spoke. - -“You know I ain’t cared for a woman since——” - -“I know.” Joe nodded. - -“She’s a swell girl,” said Rio, leaning heavily on the table. - -“Who?” Joe looked bewildered. - -“Martin’s girl. She’s too good for him. I’d hate to see her hurt.” - -Joe thought a moment. - -“What about you?” he asked. - -“None of that,” said Rio shortly. - -Joe shoved his glass aside. - -“Is that all of it?” - -“No.” Rio looked glum. “This Roberts—he’s the fag—don’t like the set-up. -I think Martin and the girl’d make it but for him.” Rio glanced up at Joe -earnestly. “I got him bluffed, though, and as long as I hang around, he -won’t bother no one.” - -Joe made a disgusted sound. - -“You can’t wet nurse ’em the rest of your life.” - -“No, but I could make a short trip and look Roberts up afterwards.” - -Joe shook his head. - -“And get thrown in jail? Listen!” Joe leaned closer to his friend. “Why -don’t you ship out, Rio? There ain’t no use—” But something about Rio’s -appearance made him stop. “All right,” Joe left the table. “If you change -your mind, I’ll be in No. 5.” - -“Good enough,” said Rio, not looking up. - -Joe walked back slowly to his ship and Rio drank coffee. When he left the -restaurant he went straight down the waterfront to the South American -Line. A small ship was sailing for Santa de Marina that evening, for -bananas. Rio saw the first officer. - -“I want to get out, Mister.” - -“We don’t like pierhead jumps on the _Nancy II_” said the blunt little -officer. Then he looked Rio over. “Have you seen the delegate? Is your -gear handy?” - -“Yeah.” - -“Bring it aboard. See the bos’n—Good Jesus, lad!” the mate yelled to an -ordinary seaman who was scrubbing the whitework. “Soo-gee that bulkhead! -Don’t kiss it!” - -Rio was forward when they cast off the lines. After the ship was made -ready for sea he sat down on a bitt and watched the higher lights of -Manhattan fade in the twilight. - - - - -_CHAPTER XI_ - - -Martin left Rio’s hotel and walked slowly along Fourteenth Street. His -mind was blended with the darkness about him, for the street seemed to -rest after the petty trading and rush of the day. He passed the cheap -little shops and solitary stragglers, unconsciously accepting them in -their place; nor did he turn his head to glance at the thin blue lights -of a tiny cinema across the way. But a girl, in passing, brushed his -shoulder lightly and asked him for a cigarette. He stopped, felt in his -pockets and pulled out a package which he offered her. - -“Mentholated, ain’t they?” she said, pleased at her good luck. “Gee, I -like mentholated.” She took one of the cigarettes and handed back the -package. - -Martin looked at her and saw the rakish, ill-fitting dress, the tired -expression in her eyes and the affected smile. - -“Won’t you keep them?” he asked. - -“Thanks, Mister. That’s swell,” she said, stuffing them in her bag. “But -d’you have any?” Here she hesitated. “You better have one,” she said at -last, carefully selecting a cigarette and handing it to him. - -He accepted it and put it in his trousers pocket. - -“Not there,” she cautioned. “You’ll smash it. Put it there.” She pointed -to the pocket of his coat. - -Unthinkingly, he obeyed her. - -“Say,” she said, peering at him. “You look hungry.” - -“I’m not hungry,” Martin smiled at her. “But now, I have to hurry.” He -smiled at her again, then walked on rapidly. - -The girl kept at his side, looking at him, her mouth slightly open. - -“You’re a nice man,” she said finally. - -Martin stopped and looked directly at her. - -“If you knew what I am, you’d run like a frightened cat. You’d run -anywhere, and afterwards thank God for it.” Then, seeing her eyes widen -and her fingers clutch her bag, he continued more gently, “For you are a -little cat, aren’t you, Cat?” and he hastened on with long strides. - -The girl stared after him, then turned, and with her head hanging down, -walked slowly the other way. - -As Martin approached Seventh Avenue he noticed a bright-eyed old woman -on the corner. On the pavement in front of her was a basket of French -marigolds. Martin hesitated and stared at the flowers for a second, then -at the old woman. - -“What do they mean?” he asked. “They look like wax.” - -“Oh, sir, they ain’t. I grew ’em myself.” The old woman watched him, her -hands in her apron. - -“Give me a bunch of the prettiest!” Martin pointed. “There!—in the -center. They are for someone I love.” - -“Yes, sir. I’ll give ye the bunch that’s prettiest.” She chose the -freshest ones and carefully wrapped the stems in a piece of damp brown -paper. - -“Thanks, old lady,” said Martin, dropping a coin in her hand. “And I’ll -give _you_ a wish.” For a moment she smiled, Martin thought rather shyly, -regarding him with a strange, toothless understanding. He held the -marigolds before him, sniffing occasionally as he hurried on. - - * * * * * - -When Deane saw him she wanted to cry; and taking the flowers, she -fingered the little bouquet lovingly before laying it aside for a moment. - -Martin sat down heavily on the divan. - -“My God, I’m tired,” he said. “Tired and hungry. Why, I’m just as tired -as when I left here. That seems like a long time ago.” - -“Don’t let’s talk about it,” said Deane, sitting down beside him. Martin -could feel each pulse beating from her wrist in time with his own blood. -He put his head against her arm, letting the faint sound ring into his -temples. He rested against her naturally, faithfully, as though returning -from a voyage of centuries or death. - -Deane added to this dream-like state, this swift advance of years -to year. She felt the soft wash of logic crumbling within her, loved -him without exception, and remained quiescent. She heard Martin’s -breathing, felt an awakening, a weary happiness. A clear stream of words, -unintelligible, fell through her hair.... - -Martin sat up. - -“Did you sleep, too?” he asked. - -“No,” answered Deane, smiling. “But I was very happy. You slept like a -baby. Don’t you ever talk in your dreams?” - -“I did have a dream,” declared Martin, now thoroughly awake. “I dreamt -that I met you at the point where the world meets itself. We decided -instantly that we loved each other and——” - -“What a lie!” interrupted Deane, laughing. - -“I swear it!” said Martin, elaborately crossing his heart. “And I dreamt -also that I was very hungry. Wasn’t that strange?” - -“Yes. A coincidence,” said Deane, kissing him on the lips and starting to -rise. - -Martin caught the back of her hair and strained her to him. - -“Deane!” he cried. But she pushed against his shoulders until he let her -go. - -“I’m going to cook some bacon and eggs, Martin,” she said, panting. -“Don’t act that way now. You said you were hungry.” - -“For you,” Martin argued, stretching out his body and holding out his -arms. - -Deane shook her head and went into the kitchen where she could hear -Martin laughing. - -“He is really a terrible person,” she said to herself. But her lips -trembled, and as she brushed the damp hair off her forehead the -implication in her dark eyes was delightful. - -When she brought in the feast Martin jumped up to help her with the tray. -He could scarcely wait to taste the coffee. - -“It’s perfect,” he said. “And how did you fix the eggs?” - -“I beat them up with a little milk before putting them in the pan.” - -“They’re wonderful,” he repeated. “Let’s make it a _real_ feast. What do -you say we wait up until dawn. There will be many colors and shapes in -the clouds from this window.” He pointed to where the late moon, a dull, -inverted sickle, was shining in the east. “I can put my hand outside the -window and almost touch Europe, Deane,” he said. - -“I don’t want Europe,” Deane said huskily. Her face seemed a little drawn -as she watched him, her eyes half closing and unclosing. - -Martin, noting the expression on her face, felt a kind of loving in his -heart which he had never known before. - -“Sweet little maniac,” he said gently, and petted and caressed her. The -sedative movement of his hands, which he worked most carefully, so as not -to excite the blood or open the tiny nerves about her spine soon quieted -Deane and she lay in his arms. “I’m going to tell you some stories,” he -said, rubbing his cool cheek against hers. “And later, we’ll watch the -dawn come up over Europe.” - -It was midnight. The last light had been extinguished in the giant -buildings and only the raw sky and the face of the radio brought shadow -into the room. Deane rested on the divan, her eyes on Martin who sat -crosslegged on the floor in front of her. Suddenly, he leaned forward. - -“This is a magical room, Deane, and this is a magical night. In older -times, in an ancient time, there was a beautiful Princess—the loveliest -in all the world. Arrogant Princes with long gleaming swords and many -dragons to their credit wooed her. But she was unresponsive. - -“Her father, the King, said, ‘She is sick.’ - -“Her mother, the Queen, said, ‘We shall see.’ - -“And so, one night, when the moon burned like a silver flame over the -Kingdom, they stood at the wall of her room and peered through the chinks -at their daughter. The Princess, a look of ecstasy upon her face, was in -a chair, resting. In front of her was a little, old man—perched like a -bird before her.... - -“‘What does she see in the little man?’ whispered the King. - -“‘What _does_ she see?’ demanded the Queen. Affection? A reflection of -herself? Or some quality in the creature?’” - -Martin stopped. Deane’s hands braided and became sexed again. Once more, -Martin leaned forward. - -“Would you like to hear the sequel?... It happened in Paris, Deane. There -was a gargoyle struck on the cornice of a gigantic cathedral. His stone -eyes had been forced shut by the ages and his only tears were rain. His -thick shoulders were bent by the centuries, and moss covered his throat. - -“A beautiful woman, desired by all men, surfeited by leisure and -adoration, saw this figure. And so, in secret, she took lodging across -from the cathedral that she might watch the shadows move in the -gargoyle’s face by moonlight, by lightning-flash and in sun. Day by day -she contemplated his patient, agonized expression; and day by day she -became more contemptuous of the gracefulness and vanity of her suitors. - -“One night, moonlit and vagaried with cloud, she was gazing at the -asymmetrical face. Suddenly the head seemed to move. The woman’s heart -beat quickly and she grasped the sides of her chair. Deliberately, while -she watched, the gargoyle’s eyes opened and turned upon her, asking a -question. The woman, protesting, held out her white hands. At this, the -figure shuddered; then his stone arms pushed on the cornice and his -shoulders broke from the wall. - -“The woman ran to her mirror, regarding her pale, excited face. In her -closet she touched her gowns—faster and faster her heart! Dressing -herself in the loveliest gown of all, she returned in haste to her chair. -There she waited, facing the empty cornice where a gargoyle had lain for -centuries.... - -“There was a soft sound at her door. Now, through the opening, the woman -could hear quick breathing. She pressed her hand against her throat, -observing the figure as it entered. - -“Slowly the gargoyle went to her, his movement quiet and purposeful. -Laying his head upon his arms, he dropped down on his knees before her. -Frightened, the woman looked away. Then her love, conquering fear, placed -an infinite pity upon him. Her hands braced under his chin, lifting the -agonized face until his eyes met hers. Lightly, her fingers caressed the -deep cracks in his cheek, brushed the dry moss from his throat—and for -one helpless, inarticulate moment, the gargoyle lived.” - -Martin felt the heavy wetness of his eyes. His twisted, passionate face -looked up at Deane. - -“She knew!” he cried. “And you know!” - -Deane placed her hands upon his throat and drew him toward her. - -“Yes,” she said. While in an uneven, throaty voice she kept repeating, -“She knew, and I know.” - -“Flower lips,” Martin whispered, the taste of blood in his mouth, -“squint your lovely eyes like old China—China eyes—” He moved her then, -until she floated, insubstantial, upon the blue mosque of the couch. Once -more, reality became a dream, and night pushed inward.... - -Martin watched the moon rise slowly and swing higher southward. Venus -appeared, and then the Dipper, of such a calculating blue, such measured -coldness that Martin shivered. He looked at Deane tenderly as she lay -in his arms, trying to remember when such emotion had dominated him. -Deane’s face, a cameo in the steel-tinted light, was now upturned to him -in a death-like stillness. He put his ear against her heart to reassure -himself. Deftly, he disengaged his arm from her waist and slipped on one -knee to the floor. Then he crept softly to the window and looked out over -the vast eastern sky. He imagined that he could faintly see the first -pale ravages of dawn, so he returned. Still kneeling on the floor, he -blew upon Deane’s hand and up her arm. He thought that she would never -awaken, until suddenly he heard her say, “My, what a feeling you gave me! -Did you enjoy the view from the window?” - -“So you were awake all the time!” Martin laughed. “I thought as much.” - -“Then why did you blow so hard?” asked Deane. “And why did you sigh once?” - -“Come on,” said Martin, pulling her to her feet. “The sky’s beginning to -change.” The sunrise was bleak, desolate and forbidding. “It just came -out of the sea by way of Newfoundland,” he added. “Everything is cold -in that region—even the sun. Do you see those clouds streaking over the -horizon? That’s the point where all winds leave for a short visit with -Mother Carey.” Martin sniffed the air. “I thought so. Don’t laugh, Deane, -but I can smell icebergs.” - -“What do they smell like?” Deane asked curiously. - -“Some sailors say the bergs smell like wet sea moss; others say it’s like -a pocket of cold salt. But to me they have no positive odor. It’s more -like a taste. It’s like kissing an ammoniated mirror.” - -“That’s strange,” said Deane, looking at him queerly. - -The wind outside was raging and whistling through the radio antennas as -through the rigging of a ship. - -Deane made fresh coffee. As Martin was finishing his cup, she asked him -gravely, “Martin, how are you going to live? What will you do?” - -He raised his head. - -“I shouldn’t worry about that, Deane; at least, not now. I know a -typographer who, I think, will give me a job. It will probably be part -time, but that’s all the better, for I have some other work I’d like to -do.” - -“What kind of work?” she asked. - -“Along the same line,” Martin answered. He pulled an oilskin envelope -from his pocket and carefully took out some papers. “I’m building a -type design that I’ve worked on quite awhile. As an avocation I find a -good deal of pleasure in it. Some of the letters got a little wet, but -I think you can see what I’m trying to do.” He spread the papers out -on a table and he and Deane bent over them. He pointed to one of the -capital letters. “See, Deane?—The design is that of living forms—plant -and animal. In the drawing, the bottom circles represent growth by cell -structure in all life. By simply rolling up this series, beginning with -the smallest cell, the face of the shell is seen, because that is the way -shells grow—by rolling up themselves as they develop. Since the rate of -development is normally the same, the flare of the sectors is constant. - -“The black line of the drawing shows where the artist places the line for -the letter stem, missing the center by half the radius. The blue line -shows where the stem really should be placed. It looks much better that -way. You will see that the straight line is intersected at an angle of -about 100 degrees instead of the 90 degree angle. - -“On the back of the drawing is seen how this measurement, ‘the square of -root 2’ rule, is worked out for rectangular designs. The square root of -2 is 1.4141 etc.; its reciprocal, divided by 2, is .707 etc. That is, -the strongest and most beautiful rectangle is 1.7 times as long as wide. -Apply it to a book page. Width is determined mainly by size of type and -number of columns per page. For a page 6 inches wide the length is 1.7 -times 6 or 10.2 inches. This is the correct ‘golden’ or ‘sacred’ sector, -used almost universally in the temples and sacred vessels. Textbooks -give the page ratios 5 to 8 as the golden sector but it is not correct, -neither is it so convenient or beautiful as the 6 to 10.2. - -“The design is based on the soundest dimensional ratio known—‘dynamic -symmetry.’ Many years were spent recovering this lost art, mainly in -countries about the Eastern Mediterranean—Greece, Egypt, Persia, Arabia, -and so on. The findings were published in a beautiful volume[1] and it -was there I got my information and inspiration to design a type face. - -“It is a humiliating fact that no original type face has ever been -designed in America. Our type designers have been modifiers of European -types, adding what Mark Twain called ‘new and killing varieties.’” - -Martin folded the papers and returned them to the oilskin envelope. He -was absorbed by his subject and failed to notice Deane’s expression, or -her flushed cheeks. - -“I’m ashamed of myself, Martin,” she said quietly. “I didn’t realize that -you had such a definite structure running along with your life. Go on out -now and try to get your job. And when you come back, I’ll have fixed our -dinner.” - -When she had tightly buttoned up his coat, he kissed her as a man would -kiss his wife. She detained him for a second, ran into her bedroom and -came out triumphantly waving a heavy muffler. After she had tied it -properly around his throat, she threw her arms around him and sobbed -quietly for just a moment. Then she shook the tears away in happiness, -lifted her chin and gently pushed him through the door. - -Martin, expressionless, with a steady tread, faced the sharp wind -outside. He looked at the foot-prints on the thin film of snow that -covered the sidewalks. He smiled. The passers-by could not tell whether -his smile was that of a child, or of an idiot. He crossed the street. - - - - -_CHAPTER XII_ - - -Once, while Deane was living with her aunt in a midwestern city, she had -met a young man named Carol Stevens who was visiting there. Deane’s aunt -liked him—his little courtesies, the niceties of his behavior. But with -Deane, he produced conflicting impressions. He loved a kitchen the way -most men love a study or an office; and he moved among the pots and pans -the way an artist walks before his canvas. His talent in bringing common -food to life and giving it new meaning was no greater than his ability -with a needle. He could take odds and ends of material and bring them -together in an evening gown as fragile as a cloud. But more interesting -than the things he created was his manner of creation; for he sewed with -curving, meticulous gestures that were certain of each other. Sometimes -Deane, watching him, would smile, and sometimes frown as though puzzled. -After his visit, the young man returned to his home in Idaho and Deane -forgot all about him. - -She was having a quiet cup of tea one afternoon when he announced -himself. When he came in he took her hands affectionately, as though -they were long lost and newly reunited friends. He placed his topcoat -carefully on a chair, sat down on the divan and pulled his trousers high -above his ankles. In less than a minute he seemed quite at home. - -“What a _dreadful_ trip!” he said. “A simply dreadful trip, dear!—I’m -exhausted. On a bus,” he explained. “Gas fumes—oranges—babies! A man with -a parachute on his back, or something,” he ended wearily. - -Deane laughed. She offered him tea, but he shook his head vigorously. - -“Wine?” she asked. - -“Wine,” he repeated, and drew a line across his fingernail, adding, “—so -much.” - -Deane went to a cabinet and poured a glassful of sherry. - -Carol looked at the drink and stuck his tongue into it. - -“Glorious!” he said, sipping like a kitten. Deane had the feeling he was -going to take off his shoes. - -To her relief Martin came in and she introduced the two men. Carol -watched the newcomer suspiciously. He was shorter than Martin and -chunky. He was broad in the belly; his waistband was spread with fat. -His suit, which was more yellow than tan, accentuated his contour in -spite of its good tailoring. His pale eyebrows lighted his pale eyes. His -nose revolted at the tip and elevated itself, searching. His mouth was -supposed to be prim and grim; but Martin wondered if he could catch it -in a pot. His chin billowed out. His wrists were thick and his fingers -perky. They touched things lightly. He took a cigarette holder from his -pocket. Three of his fingers were around the stem and the fourth stuck -out. Martin wondered how it would feel to bite this one off. It gave -him a pleasant sensation to think of having the finger in his pocket, -severed. He was so rapt in his thoughts that he smiled. This made Deane -nervous. It was all right for Martin to act that way with her, but not -with other people. When he smiled like that with other people it meant he -was taking a trip. She tried to catch up with his thoughts before they -became spectacular. - -“Carol had a miserable time,” she said. “It was on a bus; and there were -detours—it’s not pleasant.” - -“It’s not pleasant,” repeated Carol. - -Martin frowned and looked at him. He looked at Carol and the more he -looked, the more he disliked him. Carol was shocked at the way Martin was -watching him. It made him uncomfortable and angry. He drew his mouth into -a forced, straight line, tucked in his chin and spoke to Deane. - -“It _was_ wretched, dear. I bounced this way, and I bounced that way! And -my traveling companions!” He rolled his eyes. “There was a salesman!” -Carol snorted; a delicate snort, neither high nor loud. “The person had a -case that he held on his lap all the way!” Carol’s shoulders shook with -mirth and the ashes from his cigarette fell on the rug. He stopped for a -moment to nibble at his holder. - -Martin felt something unhealthy—something that hung in the room like an -infectious mist. But the young man squirmed comfortably and continued. - -“There was an old lady. The proverbial old lady of all busses. The kind -that has a basket of food and draws out apples and fried chicken and the -right kind of sandwiches. She offered one of them to me.” He had made -himself laugh until he felt slightly sick. “And I bounced this way, and I -bounced that way!” - -Deane told Carol that it had been an amusing experience, but one not to -be repeated; to which Carol replied as he raised one plump hand, the palm -outward, “Heaven forbid!” - -Deane tried to be pleasant, but she didn’t feel well. The air was sticky, -and she wanted to sit down with Martin and have him hold her tightly and -listen to him swear for five minutes. Martin could swear so beautifully -that it purified a room like rain. - -Martin knew what Deane was thinking and he reached for her hand. -Carol saw this and cleaned his cigarette holder with a clear, refined -disapproval. Then he meticulously cleaned his ear with the finger Martin -wanted. He cleaned his ear thoroughly; but his movements were elegant. -The expression on his face was Olympian.... He was alone in the room. -Then he looked more cheerful. He was not alone. He was in New York, -visiting.... He tried to yawn and couldn’t; but he slapped his lips -lightly and smiled at Martin. - -“Deane has a lovely apartment—doesn’t she?” - -Martin nodded, but remained silent. - -Carol’s mouth became firm again and he tapped the floor petulantly with -the toe of his shoe. - -Martin arose, went to a table where there was whisky and poured himself a -drink. - -Carol watched him for a moment, then stood up and took Deane’s hands. - -“I have an appointment, my dear,” he said gently. “It has been good to -find you.” He hesitated, lifting one eyebrow. “And I am happy to have met -your friend.” - -Martin nodded again and took a drink. - -Carol bit his lip and put on his coat, tenderly pressing a scarf of coral -pink under his collar. - -“Goodnight. I’ll call you to-morrow, dear,” he said to Deane as he left. - -When the door closed behind him Martin put down his glass and went over -to Deane. - -“It’s funny,” he said, “how friendships like this spring up.” - -Deane looked away while she spoke. - -“He hates you.” - -Martin squinted through the window at the colors in the dusk. - -“Have your fun, Martin,” she continued, “but not at his expense. Why were -you so rude?” - -“Because it’s the easiest way.” - -“I know Carol’s extravagances,” she went on, “but I hate to see him -hurt.” - -Martin wheeled around. “And I don’t want you hurt,” he answered. “Carol’s -bad luck. He’s a fool and a parrot.” Then, raising his voice a little, he -repeated, “They’re all damned bad luck.” - - * * * * * - -All this time Carol was walking down the street. His walk was unusual but -convincing. His hips had no vertical motion. They jerked horizontally, -hesitated, and jerked to the other side. He knew that his hips did this. -He liked it and did it on purpose, for he had always liked the abstract -movement of a woman. So Carol went down the street, aware and proud of -his unusual attraction. But he kept thinking of Deane and Martin. He -shuddered. “They are like animals—they!” He looked swiftly at a man -crossing the street. Then he shrugged his shoulders and thought again of -Deane and Martin. “How carnal! How obvious! Why, even now they might be -looking at each other—holding each other.” The thought was too repugnant -and he held a handkerchief to his lips. Yes; such things were—he waved -his handkerchief almost imperceptively—well, beyond endurance. Gently he -picked up his cross and strapped it over his shoulders, basking in tribal -strength. His friends had said: “Man and woman?—ah, yes,”—(with a yawn). -Carol held the handkerchief closer. - -He walked along the Avenue to Washington Square and sat down on a bench. -A thin, blonde-haired woman with a pretty face passed him slowly. She -thought rapidly, came back and sat down beside him. - -Carol’s mind was drifting pleasurably. He remembered a boy in Chicago who -could quote poetry beautifully and whose blue eyes were oriental. The -boy’s hands were so strong that they could crack a walnut; and yet, they -could be so gentle. Carol smiled, a sweet, remembering smile. The girl on -the bench smiled, too. She thought he was affecting indifference and her -interest increased. But he did not even know that she was there until she -held a cigarette toward him. - -“Pardon me. Do you have a match?” she asked. - -Carol was taken from his dream. Not entirely. A moment, a memory, a -little beauty remained. But this slender, light-haired creature had -destroyed everything he felt most closely. He looked at her calmly. He -knew women. - -“I do not have a match. I do not smoke.” He looked at her and she -understood. Both had an expression of loathing. Each typified the thing -in the world they disliked most. The girl stood up. She didn’t know how -to tell him what she felt, but an obscene, contemptuous movement of her -hips sickened him. He looked in the other direction, praying that she -would leave swiftly. It was humiliating.... The evening shadows hid her -as she walked away and Carol tried to reminisce again. But it was no -good. His dreams had gone. - -Two boys strolled past him. They were students and they were talking -about books. Their clothes were not well pressed and they were obviously -thinking about technicalities. Another boy went by; thin, his hair -uncut, looking straight before him. Several Italian sweethearts, -laughing, holding hands, walked up and down. Carol watched them with -indifference. Two more boys passed, close together. One of them was -handsome. They laughed musically, and while Carol could hear only a -fragment of their conversation, it made him lonely. Several young fellows -with polo shirts under their coats approached him; but he was scornful. -“Trade! Commercializing those wretches!”—He flicked it out of his mind -with arrogance. - -The moon undressed over the University. It was slender, strong and white. -Carol had seen a boy like that one time—slim and white and very strong. -Carol made his own standards when he had been hurt enough. The moon was a -boy, dancing for him. Tears were in Carol’s eyes and he wiped them away -austerely. Still the moon danced before him. There was an animal cry in -his throat, but he would not let it out. He arose and left the park, went -to a telephone booth and called Deane. While he talked, he held the back -of his neck tightly. - -“Hello, Deane. Would it be imposing on you if I came over again for a few -minutes?—just for a few minutes before I go to my hotel?” - -Deane was a woman, too, and she felt the quality of hysteria in his voice. - -“Of course you can. I’ll be so glad to see you, Carol.” “Right away,” he -said, and hung up. For a long time he stood there, staring blankly at -the mouthpiece while his child-mind spun blankly round its core. - - * * * * * - -Deane returned to the living room, sat down beside Martin and lit a -cigarette. - -“Jesus Christ!” said Martin, looking at her. - -The phone rang again. - -“Jesus Christ!” he repeated. - -This time it was Roberts. He asked Deane (rather pleadingly, she thought) -if she would see him. - -“Martin is here, Roberts,” she replied. - -“Please let me speak with him.” - -Deane beckoned to Martin, who flung himself out of the chair a bit -impatiently and took the receiver from her hand. - -“You think this is easy,” said Roberts, when he heard his voice. “It -isn’t, Martin. You think I’m wrong, and I think you are. But that -shouldn’t be an issue. Right or wrong, there is something more important -to which we owe our fidelity.” - -“What’s that?” - -“Ourselves, Martin. Listen! I’ve gone back and forth over our quarrel and -God knows where the origin was, or worse yet, where the ends are now. -Help me find them, dear boy. Everything is twisted. I can’t sleep.” - -Martin rubbed his forehead. There was sincerity in Roberts’ voice. - -“Everything’s all right, Roberts,” he said at last. “Come along.” - -“Good boy! Good boy!” - -Martin could hear a strange, sobbing chuckle. - -“It’s all right,” he repeated. “And Deane wants you to come, too.” Martin -could see Deane incline her head gently. It was a gesture he loved and of -which he was jealous. After he left the phone they sat for some minutes -without speaking. Then Martin shook his head. “Jesus Christ!” he said -once more. - -He got up and went into the kitchen to mix the highballs. Before he had -finished he heard Deane open the door and knew that it was Carol. The boy -stepped across his brain—walked cozeningly, with his side-weave and his -red, disarranged face. Then Martin heard Roberts. He felt the unreliable -smile—saw the white, fanatical face. He felt the pressure of entering the -room and held his fingers against the sides of his head. The two figures -with Deane were waiting for him.... Carol, looking for a lost doll.... -Roberts, handsome, leprous, searching for the impossible.... Martin -waited until the introductions were over, then walked into the living -room with the drinks. He placed the tray of highballs on a table. - -Roberts got out of his chair at once and went to him, holding out his -hand with an intense movement which Martin accepted quietly. - -“You’re looking well again, Martin,” said the adviser. “And I’m glad to -find it so.” He turned halfway to Deane with a strained smile. “Isn’t it -splendid, Deane?” - -She returned the smile, nodding her head and Martin broke in swiftly. - -“I fell into a job, Roberts—free lance work that turned regular. Perhaps -my relief shows in my appearance.” - -“Where is the job?” asked Roberts quickly, looking concerned. - -“Downtown,” said Martin, a vague expression in his eyes. - -Roberts flushed and returned to his chair, while Martin sat down on -the divan beside Deane. Carol, who had been watching the two men with -fascination, leaned back sighing, a satisfied look softening his features -as he drew out his cigarette holder. - -“I knew New York would be this way—just this way. And I just _love_ -it!” He cocked his head at Martin and nodded wisely. “The swift pace of -commerce,” he added. - -“Who said that?” asked Martin, amused. - -Carol looked embarrassed. - -“Why, I—why, I think the salesman did. But it was so apt—the salesman -said—” He hesitated, and Martin raised his hand in agreement. - -“It _is_ apt, Carol,” he replied. “I should know. It takes experience to -make one understand ‘the swift pace of commerce.’ Mr. Roberts realizes -this, too, though in a different way; for _he’ll_ never let commerce get -at _his_ heels.” - -“Indeed, I won’t,” said Roberts vehemently. “I’ll follow it, trip it, -mold it and make it carry me.” He was about to continue when Deane spoke -quietly, but with a certain implied request. Her beautiful eyes gleamed -in the shaded light. - -“Did you keep your appointment, Carol?” she asked, turning to him with -mild interest. - -“No, dear,” he answered in a puzzled voice. “No, we must have been—well, -mixed up,” he went on more precisely. “So I went to the park—Washington -Square, the policeman said it was. But oh!—I just felt so blue I _had_ -to call you up.” He held a silken handkerchief daintily under his nose -and let it flutter with his breath. “But there’s a glorious moon,” -he continued, looking at Martin. “It really seems to be dancing. And -speaking of dancing—I saw the _cutest_ thing at a show the other night!” -He became enthusiastic and stood up, still holding on to the handkerchief -with one hand while he placed the other on his hip. Then he turned his -head a little and looked coyly over one shoulder. - -“What was it like?” asked Deane, a strange smile on her lips. - -“I really can’t say, dear. But,” Carol’s eyes brightened, “It _did_ -have—” he waved the handkerchief, “what do you call it?—‘um-pah!’” -Completely forgetful now of his surroundings, he pursed his lips into -a curious form and began to sing in a rather wistful mood, “Ooh-ooh, -woo-woo, me too,” his hand on his hip, his handkerchief still fluttering. -Then he circled his left foot back of the right, followed up, and -continued until he was moving gracefully across the room in time with the -weird intonation. At last he seemed to fade into the hallway as though -it were the wings of a theater; and the three in the room could hear the -words float in long after he had disappeared—“Ooh-ooh, woo-woo, me too.” - -Martin laughed without restraint and clapped his hands loudly. There was -a gurgle of delight from the hall and Carol peeped around the doorway, -his face aglow at such acclaim. - -“Great!” continued Martin, as the young man came in beaming. “The best! -The very best, Carol!” he went on, while the other, breathless, sat down -and touched the handkerchief to his forehead. Deane’s eyes still gleamed -peculiarly; but Roberts had merely turned his face the other way. - -Then suddenly, as though each wanted to convince the others that his -own thoughts were spontaneous, they talked in animated sequence. They -talked of music, and of tides, and of the government. Each word was a -word—Roberts’, like a dark sword in a silver lake; Carol’s, like the hole -in a fisherman’s net; and Martin’s and Deane’s, like clouds over a river. - -In a short while, Roberts stood up. - -“I must go,” he said gravely. - -Carol got up also, and after a brief look at Martin, followed the adviser -into another room to get his coat. - - * * * * * - -Outside there was a cool wind blowing. Carol led Roberts to Washington -Square—an inexplicable impulse returning and behind the direction. The -guards had raked the grass after the early snows. A pile of leaves burned -slowly, and the soft flutter of pigeons beyond the firelight made the -park seem homely and comfortable. On the icy concrete surrounding the -fountain there were children with skates. Their flashing feet splintered -the dark which lay under the moon, and around these romping figures the -cool wind, blowing softly, held everything together. - -Neither Carol nor Roberts noticed the pigeons or the children. They were -watching their own hearts. Carol’s beat slowly, with a regular, bovine -thump. Roberts’ beat quickly, irregularly, with acuity and despair. He -was in such despair that he tried to find camaraderie within the boy -beside him. His monologue pretended to be a conversation, but his bright -words of indictment against Martin rolled across Carol’s porcine cheek -and were reflected, turning in to himself, weighting his bitterness more -heavily. - -“Yes, Carol,” he said, “we must forget ourselves in this issue. We must -save our friends from this domestic suicide. Clutching an insane illusion -of love, they are bemused by carnal appetite. Lost on the horizon of -flesh, their perspective becomes astigmatic. Drowned in beast’s blood, -they deliberately blind themselves to an obvious incompatibility. It -is our duty to our strength, our lives, our God, to break this union.” -Roberts’ mouth became loose and wet. “We must show them the truth.... -Martin! Martin!” The adviser’s eyes were like those of a sick horse. -“Martin is so young—so fruitful. We must forgive him.... And that lovely -woman—upset so terribly by him—we must give her our strength.” Roberts -dropped his head, unable to speak further. - -Carol smiled vacuously. - -“Yes,” he replied. - -And while Roberts cried into the vacant moon the boy beside him, -uncomprehending, drooled on. - -“Yes. We must give our strength. We must give ourselves. We must give—” -Carol’s voice became fainter and disappeared into the sound of leaves. He -could feel Martin’s arm around him, petting—forcing. Carol’s face became -curiously beautiful.... He was giving himself.... - -Roberts, taken from his sadness by this incoherent dribbling—Roberts, -sensing the thought beside him, moved away. He looked at Carol, at the -fat thighs, the fat cheeks, the desire; and he was suddenly sick. To have -Martin touched, even in thought, was unbearable. Unsteadily he pushed -himself off the bench and walked away without speaking. The moon was -beautiful, but it was not for him. There was magic in the wind, but it -made him feel more lonely.... For a long time he walked. The cornstalk -he had left sitting on the bench was but a mild irritant now. It became -less and less so until Roberts laughed. - -Carol was not aware of the change. He knew only that Martin was -closer—that his dream was real. - -The bonfire had long been extinguished and the guards had left. There was -no sound of skates; there was a hush of wings; and the moon looked down -on the Italian lovers with their quick, dark hands. - - - - -_CHAPTER XIII_ - - -Carol did not sleep well that night. He had dreams of strong and muscular -things; but they felt good. Early in the morning his child-mind was -tired. His fantasies and adult body had exhausted him. He awoke and -turned over to be spanked. His father had always spanked him when he had -been bad. But now he did not feel his father’s calloused hand against -him, nor could he see his father’s frown and long, unshaven jaw. Carol -turned over again, realizing vaguely where he was.... His father was -dead. He was not being spanked. Something had been taken from him and his -mouth trembled.... The strong nostalgia made him sick. He wanted to be -bad, and then feel the hard hand and weep happily as his father struck -him. - -Carol was now fully awake. He got out of bed, rubbing his sticky eyes. -Over the wash-basin there was a mirror in which he saw himself. He turned -on the cold water, dipped his head in the bowl and rubbed his cheeks -until they glowed. Then he bathed with a washcloth and afterwards, -squirted toilet water under his arms. The hotel room was small and hot. -He opened the window a little wider, returned to his bed and made it up -carefully, patting the corners. At last, he put on a dressing gown with -long, flowing sleeves, smiled at the reflection of his pink, clean face -in the mirror and picked up the telephone. - -“Give me outside,” he said. - -“What number do you want?” asked the operator, sucking her teeth. - -Carol was startled. Then he gave the number. - -Deane answered a little sleepily. - -Carol lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in flat, blue layers. - -“Did I get you out of bed, sweet?” - -Deane smiled easily, the smooth skin at the corners of her eyes forming -tiny lines. - -“Of course not, Carol,” she replied. “I’m glad you called. Did you enjoy -your evening with Mr. Roberts?” - -“Oh!” said Carol, “I had _such_ a good time. Mr. Roberts is so -interesting. And we talked about so many things. It was such a beautiful -evening and so—” Carol’s sibilant words came through the wire to Deane, -awakening her thoroughly. “Let’s have lunch together,” he continued. “How -about twelve, at the Astor?” - -“I have some shopping to do,” she answered, “but I’ll be through by one. -Suppose we make it then.” - -“All right, dear. I’ll see you then,” he said, stressing every other -word. “I’ll see you then. Good-by, dear.” - -Deane left the apartment in confusion, half amused and yet severe. -Her tiny hat, which was like an autumn leaf, revoked the tailoring of -her rust-colored velvet suit. On the street, old women smiled at her -without knowing why; and newsboys became quiet for one starry-eyed, -adolescent moment as she passed. But she kept thinking of Martin. She -remembered him as he had been on the previous night. She loved him, but -he was a problem. If his were artistry, it would be good to get back to -solidity and minds that ran in clear, straight lines. She had thought -this as she left the apartment. But in the shops she changed her mind. -She saw strong, competent men and women and she liked them. But thoughts -of Martin persisted—Martin with his hair sticking up—Martin, fumbling -with design and people and dreams. He might find it! He _must_ find it! -Deane put her small, gloved hand to her throat. She wanted him suddenly, -strongly. She wanted his incoherent sentences, his slippery body and -his crazy, adoring heart. She laughed self-consciously in front of the -pencilheads, typewriter-heads and blotting-paper faces, and made a few -reckless purchases. - -Carol met her at precisely one o’clock. His face was pink, natty -and smiling. His belted coat showed his figure and he wore no hat. -His astonishing scarf had been replaced by an ascot tie whose vivid -background was accentuated by purple stripes. He took both of Deane’s -hands with sisterly affection, completely unconscious of the mild -attention he had attracted in the lounge. - -“A _dreadful_ morning,” he said wearily. “One can’t eat in New York, can -one?” - -Deane was a little piqued. - -“Well,” she said, biting her scarlet underlip, “one’s going to.” More -kindly she took his arm. “We’re going to eat heartily, Carol. I’m hungry.” - -They went into the bar. The buttons on Carol’s topcoat stuck out like -feathers. He was conscious now of the atmosphere and of the woman with -him. His exuberance spilled, porridge-like, over the barren years of his -life and reached out toward the other patrons in the bar. Ostentatiously, -he led Deane past a table where two elderly ladies were having whisky -and soda. One of them wore three wedding rings. The other’s plume on her -tiny hat colored the dark fur over her shoulders. Carol’s good nature -manifested itself again and he nodded intimately to them. The old ladies -looked at each other and went on drinking their whisky. - -At last, Carol selected a table and held a chair for Deane. She wanted -a glass of sherry, but tried to enjoy the drink he ordered. It was a -fragile looking concoction of pale pink, with a lace of foam. - -“At home, we call it a ‘raspberry kiss,’” said Carol proudly. - -Deane knew that he thought he was living. He sipped on, and sang on, -hesitating briefly to glance at every man who walked into the bar. -One or two of them looked at him in amused recognition, but most of -them were absorbed in other matters and passed him, unnoticing. As the -alcohol sifted through his mind, his sentences became more vapid, more -pretentious, and louder. He began to simper—call attention to unimportant -things. There was an angry moment with the waiter, who accepted his -ridiculous complaints with thinly veiled contempt. It was difficult to -embarrass Deane—the outside of Deane. But she refused a second drink, -suggesting food instead, and together they went upstairs to the dining -room. - -The head waiter courteously guided them to a corner table. No one was -close to them and Deane relaxed. Carol sighed, lit a cigarette and -ordered the luncheon. Suddenly he leaned toward Deane. - -“We have been friends too long, dear,” he said, “for me to mince words. -You don’t mind my speaking?” - -“Of course not,” said Deane. “I don’t mind at all.” - -“I have heard rumors,” said Carol, shaking his head over his plate. “They -have bothered me and I feel that you ought to know.” - -Deane looked amused. - -“Rumors?” she repeated. “Honestly?” - -“This,” said Carol sternly, “is not a frivolous joke. It has no -frivolity.” He looked less stern now. Frivolity. He liked that word. He -leaned back in his chair and tried, ineffectually, to blow a smoke ring. -“This,” he continued, “concerns your happiness. It will probably hurt -you. But I know you will face it. I must forget myself in this issue.” - -“Issue?” asked Deane, frowning a little. - -“Yes, Deane,” went on Carol. “It’s Martin and you. It is domestic -suicide. I watch you clutch this insane illusion of love—bemused by -carnal appetite. Lost on the horizon of flesh, your perspective becomes -astigmatic. Drowned in beast’s blood, you deliberately blind yourself to -an obvious incompatibility. It is my duty to my strength, my life, my -God, to break this union.” He let his head rest against the wall for a -moment, hypnotized by the magnificence of his words. - -Deane was now frankly amazed. Where did these words come from? They were -brilliant, hateful words. Carol was incapable of such expression. She -hunted through her memory for the explanation. Then she recalled Martin’s -analogy of the parrot. Carol had heard the words and had remembered them. -Where had he heard them? No one knew Martin—ah! The good friend Roberts. -That sounded like Roberts. That _was_ Roberts. - -She watched Carol—his eyes closed, three fingers on his holder. -Retentiveness—that was it. Carol, the parrot. Retentiveness. Carol did -not know what had broken from his memory. Deane knew that he believed it -was himself speaking. She began to fear Roberts. Fear him so much that -she forgot Carol was with her. - -Carol squinted and nodded his head approvingly. That had done it. His -great understanding had brought Deane to her senses. Her face showed -it—pale, constricted. Carol cocked his flat, moist hands at her in -sympathy. - -“I know it’s hard,” he said, reaching womanishly toward her. - -Deane did not move away from him, but she had an odd feeling. Once, she -had had a dream that had given her the same sensation. She dreamed that -in an adventurous moment she had descended to the bottom of the ocean, -there to play with the mermaids, look at the starfish, and perhaps start -a flirtation, harmless or otherwise, with friendly old Poseidon. She had -dropped softly to the sands of the sea and it was more beautiful than -she had expected. The water was the kind of blue pretty girls like in -nightgowns. It was cool and restful and it felt good around her legs -and her waist. She walked slowly and gracefully over the white sand and -through the blue water. At last she saw a rock, half-embedded in moss; -and there, holding it tightly, was her starfish. She knelt down to look -at it. It was a large one of delicate yellow—not at all like those dried, -smelly things she had studied at school. It was yellow, and it clung to -the green moss. It seemed to be in love; but it was quiet. Deane knew it -was asleep when she looked closer. Its crisp points were symmetrical and -straight. Deane blushed, and through the twilight blue of the water the -color of her cheeks was attractive to King Poseidon who had been peeking -at her through a wall of seaweed. He was infatuated. She was different -from Amphitrite. He loved Amphitrite—her long green hair, her white face -and jeweled hips. Nevertheless, he wanted to kiss this strange woman. He -wanted to kiss the color in her cheeks and touch her. But King Poseidon -shook his head. Amphitrite could be very difficult if she became angry. -Confound these appetites for rare and inedible dishes! Poseidon smiled -though, a boyish, sheepish, proud smile. He had appetites. He was getting -to be a little gray; and still, he had appetites. He looked at Deane once -more, wistfully, and took his appetites to Amphitrite. - -Amphitrite combed his beard. Poseidon looked at her and poked his finger -at her and winked. She regarded him suspiciously, but when she saw the -expression in his eyes something happened to her. Through the darkening -blue her white cheeks softened, became pink and sent out threads of -coral. Poseidon shook his head in wonderment and happiness. It was just -what a man wanted. That was all. The memory of Deane faded from him as -Amphitrite, her face still coral, gently removed his crown. - -As the water became darker, Deane’s dream became less happy. She couldn’t -compete with green hair, a white face and those commanding, jeweled hips. -She was despondent. She didn’t want King Poseidon. She wanted the earth -again and stars and a warm, comfortable hand. It was the didactic part of -her spoiling a beautiful dream. - -Some dreams can’t be shut off. As she drifted toward the surface of the -water a white shadow crossed above her and twisted under her face. Its -white was not a pure white, and there were dark objects fastened to its -shoulders. Deane wasn’t afraid. The creature didn’t want her. It didn’t -have any sense; but it was close and revolting. In her dream she floated -slowly upward. She was strong and disdainful, but that didn’t push the -creature from her. She rose slowly, grimly, with hate—motionless. Her -hair caught the surface of the water. Stars poured into her eyes, the -white shadow faded, and she awakened. She had gone into the bathroom and -washed her teeth. - -In the dining room Deane remembered this dream and her feeling for the -snub-faced shadow. Carol leaned toward her. She did not fear him. She did -not move from him, but she wanted clean air and a chance to brush her -teeth. - -“Carol,” she said, “Martin and I are very good friends. I believe in him.” - -Carol lit another cigarette. He was bewildered. It was unfair. He had -gone to Deane as a pal. He had tried to help her. His eloquent monologue -still boomed within him. Then a friendly sorrow for himself killed some -of the pain. He had done his duty although it had been unappreciated. -He saw women—all womankind rotating under the phallic thumb of bestial -domination. He shivered, reached for the check and stood up. Deane -noticed that he left no tip for the waiter. - -She hurried home and Carol returned to his hotel. He sat carefully on the -edge of his bed and looked out at the moving cars and people. His face -was serious. Deane needed him. His affection would win over this—this—he -put his head down on the pillow and refused to think any more. - - * * * * * - -Deane glanced at the clock. Only an hour to wait. She was glad that -Martin was coming at five. She was glad to get out of her tailored -clothes and into the bath. It would be comfortable to feel her skin -against the warm porcelain; to smell the soap and to watch the steam -cover the glass. There was no aroma from the step-ins dropped upon the -tile. Only the faint resonance of a discriminate healthiness from the -underclothes was in the corner. Deane slipped into the tub, still wearing -her brassiere and her wristwatch. Impatiently she took them off and now, -she lay flat across the shoulders of the tub. Reaching around, with her -eyes closed, she felt the cake of soap next her hips. She weighed it in -her hands for an absent moment, thinking of Martin, and with a slow smile -laid the bar upon one breast, which she had candidly lifted out of the -water. The pride she held in her own body seemed an important thing to -her and she constantly soaped the skin around her nipple in amusement—but -laved it also, in possibilities too far to speak of, even to herself. -At last the warmth of the bath claimed her more expressively than she -had believed it could; and she remembered, with a shiver, the snows of -childhood and buried herself again in the heat of the tub. One of her -hands went gently, but shockingly to her knee; and again with a smile, -not understandable, she lifted her body out of the water, which rang in -constant drops of different colors from her naked throat. - -While she dressed, she thought of her earrings. She chose a slender East -Indian pair of beaten silver. They were long, nearly touching her bare -shoulders, and of a deceptive quietness. She looked at her slippers—gold, -vermilion, rust—at last selecting ones of purple from which she decided -her gown. Its bodice, which she laced and tied, peasant fashion, closed -tightly about her waist. The skirt swung slowly from her hips. She looked -once more into the mirror and fastened her hair on one side behind her -ear. - -When Martin came, he put his arms around her, kissing her earrings and -her throat, the scented smooth hollow under her arm, pressing her so -close to him that she trembled. - -“Tell me—what did you do to-day?” he whispered, holding her hand to his -cheek. - -“I went shopping,” she said. “And later, I had lunch with Carol.” - -Martin spoke irritably. - -“That one again? Why doesn’t he go back to the Dust Bowl?” - -“He isn’t that bad, Martin.” Deane tried to sound convincing. - -“I should think,” Martin said bitterly, “that you would be the last one -to question my judgment where such people are concerned.” - -Deane lifted her delicate eyebrows. - -“I’m glad I’m your sweetheart,” she said. “That remark would sound -curious to others.” - -“I suppose it would,” replied Martin, a bit unhappily. “I’ll admit, I’m -prejudiced as the devil, but I can’t help but see it. Carol’s learning -new tricks. The crust is breaking. He lives among his fantasies—dreams -fired by sagebrush and loneliness. His desire is volatile and his friends -right now may affect the nature of his entire life. I’m sorry Roberts is -mixed up in it.” - -Deane was thoughtful for a moment. She cupped her chin in her hands and -drew her small, slippered feet up under her. - -“I believe you’re right, Martin,” she observed at last. “For the first -time I see that it’s a dangerous combination. I still believe, though, -that Roberts is the one who, ultimately, will try to harm you. He’s done -it once and although you came out, he will try it again. He seems to know -your vulnerable points.” - -Martin sounded a little angry. - -“Why can’t we just eliminate them?” - -“It isn’t quite so simple as that, Martin,” answered Deane. “Roberts and -I have mutual friends. I’d always be running into him. As for Carol—he -has no one; and I couldn’t bear to hurt him.” Deane stared before her. -“Besides,” she added, “I’m wondering if elimination could bring about -anything but superficial results. Roberts is ingenious.” She turned to -Martin impulsively and put her hand upon his arm. “Martin!—somehow, I -don’t know how—but somehow, Roberts will strike at us!” - -In the city light, in the dusk, Deane’s eyes were wide, as though some -new and frightening thought had crossed her mind. - - - - -_CHAPTER XIV_ - - -Rio left the bitt on which he had been sitting. He crossed the deck and -walked down the ladder as the sea caught the ship and sent her rolling in -long swells toward the Gulf Stream. He was going to his bunk when a man -with a blue chin and hard, bloodshot eyes got up from the table where he -had been drinking beer and went to him. - -“Where’s your book?” the man said abruptly, in a high, angry voice. - -“That ain’t no way to ask for it,” Rio said slowly. - -The sailors’ delegate swore. - -“Break out that god-damned union book!” - -“You’ll find it under this,” said Rio, rubbing his fist. - -“Oh! That’s it!” said the delegate, coming closer, unconscious that his -lips were still moving. - -“Sure,” continued Rio. “A chink in the Celebes told me wisdom came with -lost teeth.” - -“Get wise then!” yelled the delegate, and swung hard. - -Rio ducked, but the blow caught him across the jaw and a little blood ran -down his neck. For an instant, his face was the outlawed Baptist’s. - -“Turn in,” he said, almost in a whisper. “The next time you might fall.” - -The man swung again and Rio drove a wide fist straight into his face. -Blood squirted out all over, covering both men. The delegate fell -backwards; his head struck a stanchion. He rocked slowly and fell loosely -sideways, his shoulder hitting the deck. Rio stepped over to the table -and picked up the empty beer bottle. - -“My God!” said one of the men. The rest of the crew turned the delegate’s -face over. They couldn’t see the features. They talked among themselves -quietly for a moment, then walked menacingly toward Rio. He jumped like -a monkey into a corner, with the bottle in his left hand and his right -fist cocked. He had pulled off his skivy-shirt and the men looked at his -chest. It was brown and curiously bare. There was the mark of a slice -bar and a dent across his ribs. They had never seen anything like it. -They stopped and seemed to smell the blood. Suddenly they recognized -the man—his style of fighting, the way animals do, without thought or -compassion. Rio stood there, silent, massive, and the men went back to -their bunks. - -The able-bodied seamen carried the delegate into the washroom and started -working on him. Rio put the bottle back on the table. Then he took his -bucket and towel into the washroom. He didn’t look at the huddle in -the corner, or at the delegate crying softly on a bench, or hear an -occasional curse from one of the sailors. He took his bath and returned -to his bunk, turned in and stared at the overhead. He could feel the slow -roll and sudden pitch of the ship. He loved it and felt at home again.... - -There were swift movements in the dark around him. Then the main light in -the fo’c’sle came on and it was quiet for a moment. He could hear a man -cough. - -“Is he?” - -Another voice. - -“Yeah. He’s dead.” - -And still another. - -“Let’s tell the mate on watch.” - -“And have your gear turned inside out, you fool?” said the first voice. - -“You’d look funny in the commissioner’s office, too,” answered the third. - -“For God’s sake then, pipe down and let’s drop him to Davy. I can’t stand -him in here. We’ll say he got drunk ashore and when he came in he fell -on his face. He said his head ached and went on deck. We looked for him -an hour.... I go to the second mate. He’ll soon be on watch. I tell him -the story. Before he gets aft or calls the Old Man, you have the fo’c’sle -cleaned and the beer hid. Stick by the story. That’s all.” - -“What about the fellow who done it? He’ll be on watch with the second.” - -“That guy ain’t human. He won’t show nothin’. O.K.?” - -“O.K.” - -Rio heard the noise die down and went to sleep. - - * * * * * - -Rio felt his arm being shaken. He saw a figure bent over him, wearing -oilskins which glistened from a flashlight. - -“Seven bells,” said the figure. “Coffee on the boatdeck. Watch it goin’ -’midships. She’s takin’ a few seas.” - -Rio dressed silently, pulled on his sea boots and fastened his oilskins -and sou’wester. On deck, he looked around the lee corner of the house -and waited for a sea to break over. A small one came under the rail and -hissed across the deck, winding up with a crash against the hatches. The -white water ran into the scuppers. As she started to roll back, Rio ran -as fast as he could to a ladder to the boatdeck. Then he went forward to -a small house where a light was burning. - -In there was a young man pouring coffee. His face was white and anxious. -When he saw Rio he said, “They tell me you’re my watch partner.” - -Rio smiled and nodded his head. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat -down to drink it. - -The young man spoke again. - -“I was told to report for lookout duty on the port side of the bridge. I -don’t know where that is.” - -“I’ll show you.” - -“But what do I do as lookout?” - -“Ask the man you relieve,” said Rio. “And don’t be upset if the mate -yells a bit. It’s hard for some of ’em to fasten a twelve-inch neck in a -seventeen collar. Just lay low unless you see a ship comin’ up. Then tell -it to him as best you can and let him swear all he pleases. We better go -up now,” he added. - -They went out into the wind and up the ladder to the bridge. The -quartermaster, seeing Rio, left the wheel. - -“One ninety-five,” he said. “One ninety-five,” he called to the third -officer in the chartroom. The officer counted out the numbers and the -quartermaster left. - -The second mate entered the chartroom, relieving the third officer. - -Rio saw the ship was on her course and looked out where his watch partner -was walking hesitatingly toward the wheelhouse. He waved him back. - -Soon, the second mate came in without speaking. He looked at the compass -under the binnacle light. Then he stood up and silently regarded Rio, who -gave the wheel a spoke or two. The mate became exasperated. He walked up -and down, staring out of the glass. Suddenly he came over and looked at -the compass again. - -“You’re off six degrees. Heading this way, we might make Jamaica.” - -“I had a wife there once,” said Rio, his face impassive. “It’s a good -island.” - -“Wife! You said—‘wife’?” - -“Yeah. Up in the hills. She was a good worker, too.” - -The mate lit a cigarette. It was twelve-thirty and Rio struck one bell. -Attentively, the officer waited for a few minutes. - -“Where’s that god-damned lookout?” He fastened his pea-jacket and went -out on the bridge. Rio could hear voices through the wind and shrugged -his shoulders. After awhile, the second mate came back puffing. - -“A fine lot—a fine lot to work with!” he said. - -A seaman stepped inside the wheelhouse and addressed the mate. - -“There’s a man missin’, sir.” - -“A man missing—a man missing? What do you mean? What happened?” - -“I dunno. The sailors’ delegate got drunk ashore. He was a little foggy -and fell on the deck. He didn’t seem to mind and said he’d take a little -air topside. When he didn’t come down we went up and looked around.” - -“Mother of Christ!” cried the second mate. “Break out the crew—No!” He -recalled the man. “I’ll get the skipper.” He ran out of the wheelhouse, -his jacket open. - -The man who had reported the accident looked at Rio. Rio’s face was dark -and kindly from the glow of the binnacle light. - - * * * * * - -Several nights later they passed the Gulf Stream and when Rio got -up about eleven in the morning he saw the deep-purple waters of the -Caribbean Sea. It was getting warmer. He put on clean dungarees and -went to the sailors’ mess for a plate of soup. He could tell little -from the expression of the men around him, but rather, felt their -sullen disapproval and was indifferent to it. He ate his soup, asked for -another plateful, ate it and went up to the wheelhouse again. He had been -steering for about five minutes with the second mate beside him when the -latter went out of the house. Rio could hear him climb the ladder to -the flying bridge to check the compass. When he came down, he walked in -front of Rio and closed the door on the weather side, although it was hot -already. He came back, looked at the compass and smiled a peculiar smile. -Suddenly, there was a sharp noise and a saccharine odor and the second -mate, still smiling, went out on the lee side of the bridge. - -Rio held his nose. - -“A virgin,” he said to himself, leaving the wheel and throwing open the -door. - -The mate returned and brought the door to. A curious expression was on -his face; but he still smiled as he left once more for the bridge. - -“_That_ fish was picked up in Nagasaki,” said Rio aloud, and opened the -door again. - -The second mate slammed the door this time, standing by the wheel only a -moment before wind cracked at his heels. Rio could see his tiny, blond -mustache jump in the sunlight. But this time, Rio did not open the door. -He followed the mate and stood beside him. - -“For God’s sake! Get back to that wheel, you damned fool!” yelled the -officer. - -“Not till both doors are open and the weather’s cleared,” said Rio in an -even voice. He leaned on the rail, his fine eyes glistening. - -The second mate rushed into the house where the wheel had turned until -the ship was twenty degrees off her course. Nervously, but with a -calculated deliberation, he gave her a few spokes at a time, trying to -protect himself from the captain’s eternal damnation. After awhile Rio -walked past him, opened the weather door and took over. Neither man spoke -until Rio was relieved. - -The next day Rio was chipping spots on the deck when he felt a knee -against his side. He pulled off his goggles and looked up. It was the -second mate. Rio laid down his hammer and said, “I can hear.” - -“You can hear—what?” - -“I can hear trouble if that’s the way you wake me up again.” - -The mate grew excited. - -“Listen! What’s the matter with you? Don’t you know discipline?” - -Rio got up. He didn’t say anything but his heavy brown face looked down -with contempt. - -The officer tried to retain his dignity. - -“Why did you raise hell in the wheelhouse?” he asked. - -Rio continued to look down at him. - -“Because I’m a quiet-livin’ man. I’m modest. And I don’t like to be -intimate.” - -The second mate’s face turned red. - -“Show me your union book,” he said briefly. - -Rio shook his head. - -“That’d be too intimate. You don’t carry your school-ship papers all the -time, do you?” - -“By God!” shouted the mate. “I’ll have you thrown in the brig. It’s hot -in the forepeak.” - -Rio grinned, a slow, malicious grin. - -“And there’s dark nights and twenty-foot shark in the Gulf of Darien—a -hell of a place for a snotty little mate to slip.” - -The officer walked away. His eyes seemed red in the sun and he seemed to -be thinking. - -Rio adjusted his goggles and went to work. He liked to see each rusted, -brown flake disappear under the blows of his hammer and uncover the -bright blue steel below. Suddenly, once more, he felt a knee against his -side. The mate had come back. He ordered Rio to move over to the port -side and chip rust near the fishplate. Rio crossed the deck, watching -from the corner of his eye the vicious look of the officer who was -crawling into No. 2 hatch. Rio grinned again. - -“A good place for ’im if a freak wave shifts the cargo,” he thought. - -He had worked for an hour when he heard men shouting. The captain came -down and ran aft, then back to the fore deck. Seeing Rio at work he -hurried to him. - -“Have you seen the second mate forward?” he asked. - -“Yes, sir. About an hour ago. He told me to chip rust by the fishplate,” -answered Rio. - -The captain looked puzzled. - -“By the _fishplate_? Quick, man!—was that the last you saw him?” - -“That’s the last, sir.” - -“Put her about!” the captain shouted up at the bridge. “See that a boat’s -ready.” - -The ship had just swung round when the second mate’s head appeared above -the hatch. He blinked in the sunlight. His shirt was torn, his flashlight -was crushed and he had a skinned right arm. He limped slowly toward the -captain. - -“I was just checking the cargo, sir,” he said. He turned angrily toward -Rio. “I know that man saw me go down.” - -The captain addressed his officer severely. - -“Why aren’t you on the bridge, Mr. Birch? Do you check cargo on your own -watch?—And with a beam sea like this running?” - -“I’m sorry, sir,” answered the mate, looking away. - -“Go and clean yourself up, Mr. Birch.” The captain turned to speak to -Rio, but the steady blows of the chipping hammer were sounding by the -fishplate. - - * * * * * - -Rio was standing outside the galley on the _Nancy II_ when she steamed -along the South American coast into the harbor of Santa de Marina. Once -before, when he had entered the bay, it had been night; and there, tucked -at the feet of the Andes, the town was obliterated by the proximity -of the moon. This time, by day, he knew that nature had sustained a -lasting brilliance to endure around the many-colored houses—beyond, the -olive shade of mountain; and before, the whitest line of sand between -the elbows of the cliff that closed upon a canvas of blue harbor. Lesser -energies surrendered in an atmosphere of light that dominated cooler -tones. - -It was late morning and Rio saw the ancient, Spanish town suspended. -Soon it would be siesta time—a quiet drink and heavy sleep while native -children watched the ship and languorously ate their fruit. Rio did not -know he had the same pure look of indolence. The shore’s breath and the -sound of hidden insects were leeward to the ship; but Rio recognized -them all. This was a town so close to him with heat and spiced, familiar -odors, its bright mantle turned away the thoughts of other things. New -York—its equidistant problems that changed with unexpectedness—was left -behind, or so he felt; and just before him was a point of tropics with a -sweet demand he understood. - -As the _Nancy II_ came alongside the banana docks she pulled up aft of -another ship of about the same tonnage. The letters on her stern spelled -_Swamp Rat_. - -Rio ran forward to help with the lines. The gangplank was lowered and he -went back to the fo’c’sle to wash up. Later, he saw the first mate, spoke -with him and went down the gangplank into the heavy glare of the sun. -Longshoremen were already unloading No. 4 hatch and the banana machine -was being set up. A large gang of peons waited patiently to go to work. -A sad-faced one with a skin of pure black saw Rio looking at them. He -smiled suddenly, and from his squatting position jumped six feet in the -air, clicking his bare heels together rapidly and coming down on one -foot, his ragged trousers flapping. The rest of the peons clapped and -laughed, shoving each other. But the black was watching Rio; and when -Rio smiled, the black clapped louder than all the rest. Then quickly, -as though he had just thought of it, he ran to a stack of freshly-cut -bananas of a lizard-green. Seizing a huge bunch from the pile, he tossed -it in the air and Rio, moving nearer, could see the hard muscles of the -man strain as he caught it in both hands before it hit the ground. Some -of the peons were chanting now, and some were slapping the boards of the -warehouse with a native rhythm. But the black still watched for Rio’s -approval and this time, when Rio clapped, the peon squatted down again, -rolling his big eyes and making a clucking sound. - -Amused, yet abiding by an adolescent impulse to exhibit, Rio walked to -the bunch of bananas which the black had returned to the pile and took -firm hold of the large stem with one hand. He threw himself forward, then -backward and down, till the tip of the bunch was pointing upward and the -stem was braced against his neck. Slowly he came up, the veins pulsing -in his forehead and sweat trickling into his eyes. For a second he stood -at full height. Then the white heat, the black men and the misty, green -bananas began to turn. He staggered; but pulling himself together, -lowered the bananas to the pile again. The peons laughed loudly and the -big black jumped up and down. Easing closer, he examined Rio’s arm. At -last, he called out to the others. - -“_Dos músculos en un brazo!_” he shouted triumphantly. - -A young oiler from the _Swamp Rat_ nudged Rio. - -“What did he say?” he asked. - -“He said I have two muscles in one arm.” Rio turned to the black and -shook his head. “_Fué un engaño_—it was a trick!” - -The peon grinned and his fellow-workers yelled, “_Engaño! Engaño!_—Trick! -Trick!” - -They were still noisy when Rio started for town. Off the edge of the -wharf he heard children laughing happily. He noticed that a group of five -was huddled around a bunch of bananas which had fallen from a truck. One -of the children, a boy, dressed in a clean cotton shirt and ankle-length -trousers, had his back to him and was flicking a little whip at the -fruit. As Rio walked that way there was a shrill, warning whistle and the -boy with the whip turned as though he had been pinched. When he saw Rio -however, he straightened up and for a moment surveyed him carefully. Then -he modestly lowered his eyes. - -“A penny, sir mate?” begged the child. - -Rio stared at the boy and struggled to think clearly. The face was that -of Martin—the same chin, the same forehead. He had the same way of -standing. Yes, he was a dark replica of Martin, much younger and with a -more beautiful face—but still the face of his friend. One thing further -startled Rio. On each cheekbone of the child was a clearly defined disk -of rouge, the size of a dollar. - -Rio felt a little angry and spoke roughly. - -“What have you done to earn a penny?” he asked. - -The boy seemed quietly mischievous and a flush appeared above the rouge. -Rio thought he posed against the sunlight. - -“If I trap my enemy, sir tarantula, sir,” he said, “then will I earn a -penny?” - -The rest of the children laughed. - -“How will you catch him?” asked Rio, bending over the bananas for a -possible sight of the creature. - -The boy cracked his whip and pointed to the edge of the wharf. At his -command several children ran and brought back an old piece of tarpaulin. -This they held silently over the bananas, making sure that no light -could filter in. Then the boy drew a line in the sand and spoke softly -in a jargon unfamiliar to Rio. Whereupon with a shout the others threw -back the canvas and a large, hairy spider which had crawled out into -the darkness was revealed. The boy flicked his little whip—and the -tarantula was divided. For a second, the halves quivered. The beauty of -the boy’s eyes sharpened and the other children shrieked with glee. When -the quivering ceased the lad stooped, and picking up one broken part of -the spider, fastened it to the end of his whip. Rio dropped a penny, -studying the little fellow, who looked down admiringly at his kill and at -the coin. - -Rio was suddenly thirsty and headed down a road by the sea for the town. -It was a hot patch to cross that day and he stopped often to look at -the harbor which somehow gave him the illusion of coolness. Once, as he -stood, he noticed the boy with the little whip silently following. Rio -put his hands on his hips and waited for him. - -The child was excited, but restrained. He had been running and was -breathing rapidly. His shirt was open and the damp cotton fabric was -plastered to his slender body. Ringlets of dark copper hung to the small -beads of perspiration on his forehead or curled away from his brow. His -intense brown eyes looked directly at Rio and he stood most straight as -though expectant and afraid. Rio was struck by the attitude and by the -sudden unnatural impression of maturity. He had never seen a lad so full -of fever—and knew this picture was as colorful as any wild and distant -fragment of his own. The boy stepped nearer and pointed toward the town. - -“May I walk through you, sir mate?” he asked. - -Rio nodded his head and when the boy came alongside he dropped his hand -on his shoulder. The lad was shaking. Rio took his hand away and the -boy quieted. Rio started sweating. This wasn’t sense. He walked on more -rapidly, the boy keeping pace with him. - -“The Cafe El Americano stays open long, sir mate. Will you not see my -sister first? She comes from the sea.” The child took long strides, -matching those of Rio. He was nearly breathless. “Always ... out of the -sea ... come our sisters and daughters.... Even to your big hefty.” - -The sidewalks were narrow and Rio sat down on the curb and rocked and -laughed and rocked till the charming old ladies crossed both themselves -and the street for the rum this sailor must have taken. In solemn -condemnation, they shook their fingers behind black fans with each -other—but hastened away where they could laugh delightedly in their -loneliness. At last, Rio stood up and wiped his eyes. He gave the boy -ten cents in silver, looked at the drying tarantula still fastened to -the little whip, and entered the Cafe El Americano. The lad’s face was -wistful. He shook the spider violently, flinging up one delicate, brown -hand. - -Instead of standing at the bar, a group of seamen had grabbed some chairs -and were sitting around while the proprietor brought drinks. Rio pulled -up a chair and asked for a rum punch. The seamen were from the other ship -and he did not know any of them. They were teasing a young sailor who was -apparently making his first trip. The boy looked sullen. One good-natured -seaman with the face of a German butcher whom the others called “Dutch,” -was particularly amused. He turned to Rio, who was near him, and said, -“The kid did like all of us, first time out—struck bells for stars, -thinkin’ they was ships’ lights. The pay-off came after the mate gave -him the devil and told him not to miss a god-damned ship, but to skip the -stars; for we met the whole Pacific Fleet doin’ maneuvers, and the kid -hit so many bells the Old Man came down and asked where in hell the fire -was.” - -The sailors roared and Rio smiled; but the harassed young seaman said, -“Aw, shut up. God! You’ve told that fifteen times.” His face was as red -as the German’s. - -Dutch was still laughing. - -“Wait till I tell it the thirtieth, lad—wait till I tell it to your -mutter.” - -“Wait till you tell it to my ‘mutter’!—God!” The kid threw himself at -Dutch, both arms flailing. The sailors laughed and scrambled for him, -holding him from Dutch who had his head in his lap and was howling louder -than ever. Finally the kid was exhausted and the sailors set him up in -his chair. Dutch got up, went over to him and gave him a pat on the back. - -“I’ll tell you the last one I picked up,” he said. “I was in Iran when I -got this yarn out of a peddler who had brought it down from Baghdad. He -sold it to me for coffee.” - -The kid grinned and the sailors settled down. - -“This peddler,” continued Dutch, “said there was a couple up there soon -to be married when the Sultan spotted the woman. He takes her into his -harem and bein’ a cruel son-of-a-bitch, orders his Chief Barber to -castrate the man. Then he plans to bring the poor bastard into the Royal -Household as Chief Eunuch so he can watch the guy suffer every time he -sees his old girl. The fellow asks one favor—that his father, who is also -a barber, be the one to do the trick. - -“The Sultan says yes, but that he’ll take a look afterwards to see -there’s no funny business. Well, the father’s a sport and gives his son a -stroke with his blade ’midships, and fastens him up with a few stitches. -The man takes it like a good egg, only he fans himself a bit and takes -a bottle of spirits in one swig. He lays around for several days, and -finally gets up, a little pale, but whole in body except for his watch -pocket. Then he goes to the Palace and the Sultan takes a few sights at -the evacuated area and is satisfied. - -“Now the Sultan has led a hell of a life, and the girl tips off her -sweetheart that in spite of turtle eggs, snake wine, pampas beetles and -blended herbs from Crete, the old boy can’t get it up. So the Chief -Eunuch tells her he has a little surprise for her; and they go down to -the lily pond to observe the constellations. Then he returns to his post -and she to her couch to sleep sweetly. A few months later the Sultan gets -suspicious. - -“The Favorite says, ‘You did it in your dreams, Celestial Master.’ - -“‘O.K., my little sugared rose leaf,’ says the Sultan. - -“And when the brat is born the Sultan slices off the heads of twenty -prisoners to celebrate. - -“Well, it wasn’t no time before the Favorite sidles up to him again. - -“‘You had another dream, Celestial Master.’ - -“But this time he’s wise. He hides behind the reeds of the lily pond one -night, and sees the Eunuch and his old girl come down the trail. In a few -minutes the Sultan’s eyes pop out of his head. He hears the rustle of the -grass and the next thing he knows, a tight mainstay and a tall foremast -is reflected in the water of the pond beside the lily pads. - -“Of course, both heads was thrown into the Tigris. But the Sultan, -thinkin’ maybe the first time was a dream, handed over ten concubines and -the Great Emerald of Phallis to his son.” - -Dutch stopped talking. The seamen’s faces were blank. - -“I don’t get it,” said one of the sailors. “How could Balled Billy swing -it?” - -“That’s what I paid coffee to find out,” said Dutch, solemnly. “There was -a god-damned testicle under his vest. It didn’t come down when he was -born. It was hangin’ high—but it worked.” - -There was a moment of silence. - -“God!” said the kid. - -Rio went to the bar, had a small rum straight and left the Cafe El -Americano. - -The boy who looked like Martin sat, half sleeping, on the sidewalk where -there was shade. He still clutched his little whip and Rio noticed that -the dried portion of the spider was still fastened to it. When the child -saw Rio he jumped up. - -“At last, sir mate, are you ready to go to the house of my sister?” - -It was mid-afternoon and as hot as a volcano. Rio wanted to find the -coolest place he could and take a nap; but he looked at the youngster and -said yes. - -The boy piloted him through a small market. The siesta hour was over and -the stalls were being reopened. The air was heavy with the odor of pawpaw -and fish; heavier still with the heat. The cloying scent of khus-khus -arose from one section of the market as an ageless woman, more Indian -than Spanish, smiled between her shoulders and bobbed in front of Rio, -one arm around a bundle of the grass. Rio, enjoying its fragrance, handed -her a coin. In the stalls much of the fruit was so thickly covered with -flies it was impossible to tell its original colors. The vendors, mostly -Spanish, seemed indifferent to sales and followed Rio apathetically. -Once, he stopped to admire a woven mat, then walked on laughing at the -obscene pattern. - -Alongside him the child waved his whip at the flies. At the next corner -he stole a piece of dried fish. They passed the square gray box which -was the solitary bank, the stucco houses with their virulent colors well -moderated by the prodigality of vines, went on to the outskirts of town -and into the Street of Curtains. - -There was no sidewalk. They walked unhurriedly along the dusty road. -Everywhere, the heat fell like individual hammers. It lay in a -transparent film between the rows of houses and gathered in blue puddles -across their path. It was too early for the girls to work and everything -was quiet except for a wind from the harbor which disturbed the curtains -that formed the entire front wall of each house. Once a small brown arm -reached out languidly, and once they heard a giggle and a soft whistle. - -“I like this Street, sir mate,” said the boy. “Everyone gets happy here -by ten o’clock every night. Believe me, sir, they get fine and drunk -here. Last night a girl smoked weeds and ran nakedly down the Street. -She screamed beautifully and nakedly. And a seaman from the _Swamp Rat_ -wouldn’t pay El Gaucho.” The boy laughed. - -“Who’s El Gaucho?” asked Rio. - -“She is the biggest woman on the Street, and has four Snakes working for -her. When the seaman didn’t pay for one of her girls, we all knew what. -Yes, he was fine and bloody when she finished whipping him with her -garbage can. Some of the girls, sir mate, call her ‘Mister.’ And that -might be truth, for I saw her give money for just a feel to a woman. But -sir, we are home.” He took Rio by the hand, pushed aside the curtains and -they went into the house. - -A girl was sitting in the corner, reading a book by the dim light of -a lamp. The boy ran to the table upon which the lamp was burning and -turned up the flame, although it was blazing outside beyond the tightly -drawn curtains. - -The girl closed her book and looked at Rio steadily for a moment; and Rio -felt that he had entered a different country. There was a wild perfume, -sharp as a chemical. In the angle of light and cut of the draperies the -girl’s skin became darker. Rio tried desperately to find her eyes which -were vague under the heavy lashes. She was not so beautiful as her little -brother; but some mystical quality outlined her charm more severely. - -“Hello,” she said. - -The boy went to her and caught her about the waist, holding on until the -girl bent over and kissed him on the forehead. - -“Hello,” said Rio, feeling awkward, and yet wanting savagely to hold them -both in his arms. That might be his salvation. He desired them both with -such a horrible necessity that for a second he was paralyzed. They moved -apart and Rio felt that one moment of fruition had been blasted into -Hell. He took off his cap. - -“My sister isn’t from here,” said the boy to him jubilantly. “I love her, -and I like it here. But I wouldn’t want her from here.” He turned to the -girl. “I’m going to make a cool green drink for sir mate, and bring him a -cool towel, sister. For he’s had that bad rum at the Americano.” - -The girl’s expression did not change when the boy had gone; but she -motioned Rio into a chair. - -“Where did you find him?” she asked. “Where did you find my little -brother? Marius is a strange child. He drifts around, but he seems safe -from everybody—” her voice rose passionately, “—everybody.” - -Rio replied absently, fascinated by the girl’s frail dignity, so contrary -to her enterprise. - -“I found him playin’ in the sand by the banana docks,” he said. “He kind -of reminded me of my best friend. Somehow, he made me think of Martin.” - -The girl spoke frankly. - -“It only happens so. Our father loved our mother and lived here many -years with her. One day he was caught in a storm. He was fishing—” She -hesitated. “And after that, our mother could not remember things. It -was well she died.... He was an educated man—a gentleman who came this -way.... That is why the boy speaks as he does. He remembers the lessons -of our father.” - -Marius returned to the room with a chilled lime drink for Rio, and rubbed -Rio’s face with a moist towel. - -“Where did you get the ice?” asked his sister, smiling. “Did you steal -it?” - -“No,” answered the child. “I bought two pennies’ worth from the ugly red -man in the ugly red cart.” He picked up a box of rouge and went to a wide -mirror. Then he carefully repainted his cheeks. The deep color, though -applied in indiscriminate and garish quantities, served still further the -willful abandonment of his features. - -“You use too much,” said his sister. “Why do you use so much?” - -“Because it makes me look like an old girl. Just like an old girl I -know,” replied the boy. - -“That isn’t true, Marius,” answered his sister scornfully. “You think it -makes you pretty. You’re too pretty already. The Snakes have told you it -was pretty, and you let them play with you. I won’t let them play with -you.” The girl’s cheeks were flushed. - -“A damned poor women are the Snakes,” said the boy. “Before that -happened, I’d talk sassily. Besides, I don’t like women.” He threw the -rouge back on the dresser and left. - -Rio walked over to the girl. - -“This is a queer place, sis, and he’s a queer boy, and you’re a queer -girl. I don’t get it. I feel almost like one of the family, and yet—” he -put his arms under the girl’s shoulders and lifted her to her feet, “—and -yet, I feel funny. Like I been doped. I’m crazy about you and the kid and -the story you told me. Aw, hell! Why talk about it.” Almost angrily he -took a twenty dollar bill from his pocket and laid it on the dresser. - -The girl didn’t smile. She looked curiously at the money for a moment and -then covered it with a book. - -Rio held her tightly and then stepped away, his eyes closed. When he -opened them she was quietly undressing. He tried to help her. But his -fingers were clumsy. - -The girl threw back the curtain around the bed and lay down, her eyes -staring upward as though searching for something. Rio looked up too, and -saw a tapestry hung like a canopy over them. - -“The Madonna!” he cried. “Good God! Not here!—where She can see!” - -The girl lifted herself. On her face lay the shadow of pain. She spread -her thick hair on the pillow with swift fingers, except for one dark -strand which cut across her breast like a wound. - -“Why do you mind Her?” she asked. “She is kind.... She is forgiving.... -She is there, where one can pray to Her—afterwards.” - -There was no hesitation in the girl’s voice—no quality of naïveté -or assumed virginity. There was a cold knowledge of fatality and -an inflexible acceptance. There was even the protective shroud of -fanaticism; and Rio saw her, gentle, but receptively immune. - -He thought of Martin. Martin would turn the picture of the Madonna upside -down and go ahead.... Yes, he thought, Martin would take her and her -sisters—and even old Agnes in the unplowed field. But he wasn’t Martin, -thank God!... And for a second or two he repeated to himself, “Thank God! -Thank God!” - -“No,” he said. He knelt down and held the girl as though she were a -child. He whispered something to her and she smiled at him. After a bit, -he stood up and searched through all his pockets for coins. He found that -it amounted to about ten dollars. He laid this with the other money. - -The girl had put on her light dress and they stood for a second by the -curtain. They stood looking at each other. Then Rio went out into the -early twilight. - -That evening the girl did not light the tiny kerosene lamp outside her -curtained doorway. - - * * * * * - -As Rio started up the Street of Curtains Marius ran to him. The boy was -chewing vigorously on a sandwich and in the hand in which he held the -whip was a package. He gave it to Rio who found a similar sandwich within -the package. - -“Try it, sir mate,” he said. “It’s good, if you’re on the gamey-flavor -side of things.” - -Rio bit into the sandwich, found it tough and certainly on the gamey -side, but made palatable with some lettuce and pepper sauce. It was -refreshing to him; and he was glad to see the boy again; gladder still to -leave, for awhile, the world of frangipani—a world which called and yet -rebelled inevitably against him. - -By this time lights were beginning to be seen along the Street, and a few -brown girls began to call to Rio. One unusually persistent one followed -them for several paces. - -Marius stopped, turned round and said in Spanish, “Bah! How many times -would you have a man break his back!” - -The woman replied in a high voice. - -“Shut up, little pimp!” - -To which the boy shouted, “How will your favorite cat look when I eat him -to-morrow night?” - -The woman screamed and ran back to her stall. - -Rio looked at his sandwich suspiciously, then dropped it guardedly where -the child could not see. - -They went back to the ship the same way they had come. On the edge of the -town by the road to the sea, the boy tugged at Rio. Nearby, an hibiscus -bush was in full bloom. Marius pointed to it. The red disks on his cheeks -glowed in the twilight. Fastening his trousers about his slim, bare -ankles, he leaped into the air and caught one blossom. Then he gave Rio a -shy, sweet glance and gravely hung the flower behind his ear.... - - * * * * * - -Rio was carrying the little whip when they walked onto the docks. He -looked down at the child beside him. - -“Sir,” he said to the boy, “do you think I could catch sir tarantula, -sir?” - -He didn’t know whether Marius was crying, for his own eyes were wet. But -he did know that a child of untranslatable beauty, with a mouth like a -bow and a heart which he knew was indisputedly his, was standing quite -still before him. He lifted the boy—kissed him on the mouth, and headed -for his ship, half stumbling. - - - - -_CHAPTER XV_ - - -When Deane opened the door Rio was standing there. He bent his head a -little as the light from the room beyond fell upon him. He looked at the -back of his wrist where an ugly scab, ripped by a loose strand of cable, -seemed an offensive sight in front of this woman. He tried to cover up -the wound with his cap. It was such a painful moment as he stared at his -great crude hands that Deane moved instinctively toward him. She saw the -hurt, shamed child in him, but more than that, within the tense breach -she saw the man. Rio’s arms, which now hung by his side as though he were -disgraced, fascinated her, then became repellent by her very daintiness. -Yet she ventured still further. What a wide cloth across his wrist! And -why the heavy jaw and painted muscles of his neck—dark by one edge and -golden by his collar!... What a tie!—so hideous, that clarified the -purpose in his eyes! For now he was looking down at her. - -“Close,” he said in a low voice. “Very close,” he repeated, remembering -the urge, the fomenting inspiration when he had left her before. In his -eyes Deane had the appearance of a small, dark seal. It was more than -the shimmering under her dress—more than a watery sea movement of her -hips that led him on until he touched her. As he held her by the arm her -black velvet gown fell sharply away from her throat, and he looked for -the first time at her breasts. The maturity, the obvious, sleek movement -contained within her resembled his own feeling now. He lowered his head. -Deane closed the door and clasped her hands behind his neck. His lips -were burning her unbearably. She tried weakly to brush them off. - -“I can’t help it,” she almost cried. “I can’t.” - -Rio took his face away from her throat and laid his hands upon her -thighs. Without effort he lifted her high above him. He was calm. There -was no note of hysteria in his voice, only a slight tension of his -muscles. Then he said, “Spit!” turning his face sideways so that he could -feel it better. “Two dogs,” he repeated intensely. “Spit!” - -Held like a doll above him—understanding his meaning, accepting the fact -of her treachery, Deane turned as wild as the awakened animal beneath -her. She knew that she was floating, knew that she was full of hatred -for Martin and not Rio. She opened her little red mouth and spat against -Rio’s cheek—once, twice, three times!—until she was breathless. And Rio, -grim, lost again from his friend, lowered her and shook her by the hair -until they came together squarely and the dull sound of illicit kisses -moaned through the empty corridor. - -When Rio released her they stood apart, looking at each other with only -Deane’s breath and the metallic drops upon his cheek as a memory. Then -Rio sighed and wiped his face with the cuff of his sleeve. - -“Whatever kind of God there is,” he said, “I’m damned! _Now_ I’ve showed -Martin the kind I am!” he continued as if to himself. “He’s crazy—he’ll -know.... And as for you,” Rio turned to the woman once more and whispered -fiercely, “you’re a black witch.” - -Deane was leaning against the wall, still breathing heavily. She made no -attempt to answer and Rio continued. - -“We better go in now and face him,” he said. “It’s the first time in my -life I been ashamed like this.” - -“I’ve kissed a fool,” replied Deane in a soft voice, “and I don’t want to -stand here any longer with him!” She bit her lips. “Mr. Roberts will be -glad to see you. Come on in.” She opened the door. - -“I’ll come,” said Rio, following her. - -Martin heard his voice and stood up. - -“Hello, Rio,” he called. “That was a short trip.” - -Without speaking, Rio went to him. Then he looked around, frowning, -saw Roberts, saw the young man he had met in the hall and another, a -stranger. Martin watched him with a puzzled expression. - -“What the devil?” he asked. - -Deane interrupted. - -“I believe you know Mr. Roberts, Rio,” she said. - -Rio turned in the adviser’s direction, shrugged his shoulders and nodded. - -“I know him, Mrs. Idara.” - -Roberts was sitting at the far end of the room. The north light from the -window was so severe that it formed a blue overshadow on his dark hair -and outlined his proud face in a series of sharp angles, unnoticed by any -but Deane. He arose and bowed stiffly, his lips set. - -Carol had been watching the newcomer intently all the while and now at -this cue from Roberts, he skirted two chairs and smilingly eager, held -out his hand to Rio who looked amused. - -“My name is Stevens,” he said. “Carol Stevens.” Rio pulled his hand away -but Carol continued. “I know why you boys look like sailors.” He glanced -at Martin, then back at Rio. “You both do, you know. You get so nice and -tan. My goodness!—but you travel so! It’s simply romantic, isn’t it, -Deane?” he added, still staring at Rio. - -“Yes,” Deane answered, preoccupied, her hand to her hair. “It is -romantic, Carol.” She turned to Drew who was standing patiently by his -chair, a rather vacant expression on his face. - -Rio looked at the immaculate, slender fellow sourly when he was -introduced. Drew, however, gestured in mild acknowledgment, maintaining -his appearance of abstraction. Then deliberately he stepped forward and -reached for a short, thick cigarette on the small end-table where Rio, -partly leaning, had placed his hand. The cigarette glowed unnaturally -as Drew touched a match to it, and he looked straight into the eyes of -the sailor which were now even with his own. Then, as the two men stood -there face to face, Drew’s lips parted slightly and the smoke curled in -a heavy roll from his mouth. When the dense vapor disappeared, he smiled -unevenly, and with eyes lowered, returned to his chair where he leaned -upon it gracefully, one slim hand upon its back. - -Martin watched the fantastic play in a stolid, philosophic mood, coldly -regarding Rio’s frightened look. - -Deane became uneasy.... “What was Drew’s secret action that had -accomplished such an unthinkable expression upon Rio’s face. Was it,” -she reminded herself, “the smoke?—or Drew’s protective anger based on -his uncanny knowledge of her own affair beyond the door?—or was his -melancholy fury a safekeeping just for Martin!” - -Roberts had begun to cough violently. With each paroxysm he held a -handkerchief closely to his lips. Deane went to him but he waved at her -with petulance. - -“I’m all right,” he answered in reply to her question of concern. “It’s -this strangulation! Damn such an affair!” he said irritably and sat down. -“I don’t understand it, and I don’t want to,” he added, and immediately -went off into another seizure of coughing. The others stood around him -anxiously, not knowing what to do. - -“Oh, please sit down,” said Deane, throwing herself on the divan and -waving her pretty arms in little, indecisive movements. - -Rio and Carol obeyed her, but Martin hurried into the kitchen and Drew, -still pensive, continued to lean upon the back of his chair, watching -Roberts as though but vaguely aware of his predicament. Martin returned -with a glass of water and putting his arm around the adviser’s shoulders, -held the glass to his lips, trying to get him to swallow between spasms. -Gradually the spell quieted and Roberts looked up at his friend. Then he -took the glass from the other’s hand and gulped the rest of the water. - -“I’d like another,” he said, wiping his eyes. - -Martin nodded, took the glass and returned to the kitchen. When he came -back Roberts accepted the drink more slowly. - -“Will you please hold your arm the way it supported me before?” he asked, -looking again at Martin, this time with a rather contemptuous smile. - -Martin put his hands in his pockets and stared out of the window, his -eyes the color of the gray, low-sweeping clouds. - -The adviser watched him for a moment, then put down the tumbler of water -almost untouched. With a half suspicious expression he now looked around -at the others. - -“No,” he said distinctly, “I’m not afflicted. And Drew, this isn’t -hysteria, so stop thinking of that.” - -“I know,” agreed Drew, nodding his head. - -“Let me make some tea,” suggested Deane, as spiritedly as she could. - -For a moment the adviser was gentle. - -“No, Deane,” he said. “You shouldn’t bother. You see,” he smiled somewhat -wanly, “everything is stimulated enough.” - -“Of course,” said Drew. “It’s getting too late anyway.” - -Across from them, Carol’s head seemed to pivot around the side of his -chair like the brass plate of a revolving door. - -“Of course, dear,” he repeated. “It’s getting too late.” Then with a -slithering movement, his head spun slowly round again and he could be -heard faintly whispering, “It will soon be cocktail time ... cocktail -time.” - -Roberts shuddered. - -“That should settle it,” said Martin. He lit a cigarette and looked at -Rio. “But it won’t. Do you have anything to add about tea, sailor?” - -“No, by heaven!” exclaimed Rio. “What I have to say ain’t about tea. Of -all the people and talk I ever seen—” He had started to rise when Deane -stopped him. - -“Tell us about your trip, Rio,” she said. “Where did you go?” - -He hesitated, but finally sat down on the edge of his chair, looking -sullen. - -“A little banana town. In South America,” he answered at last. - -“Santa de Marina?” asked Martin, looking interested. - -“Yeah,” said Rio. - -Martin turned to the others and spoke proudly. - -“Rio took his own ship into that harbor once.” - -“So Rio was a master!” observed Roberts. Then, staring at the floor, -he said with a cruel abstractness, “Yes, the sea is relentless. Many -derelicts seek my aid on land when they find deep water too deep.” - -“That’s true,” declared Martin instantly. “And many landlubbers are -drowned because _they_ can’t step a mudpuddle. But they are not even -derelicts. They’re just old bags. Of course,” he said, turning round, -“you’re a derelict, Rio. But Mr. Roberts wasn’t thinking of you. I’m sure -of that.” - -Rio was watching Roberts with such dreadful intensity that when Martin -finished, the adviser’s head snapped back like that of a toy. - -Carol shifted about in his chair and stretched his legs. He felt the -confused streams in the room, and it made him restless. - -“That’s right,” said Rio, still watching Roberts intently. “He didn’t -mean me. Once he made a mistake and I saved him from a derelict. Maybe -the fellow let him go just so he could try it again some time. That thing -you said about the mudpuddle is right, too, Martin. I’d think Mr. Roberts -would be afraid. But he ain’t, Martin.” - -Roberts did not hear all of this. He remembered those bitter eyes and -hands too clearly. - -Carol broke in. - -“I wish I could talk like _you_ talk,” he said, addressing Martin. “I -think you have the most—well, the most _exciting_ things to say.” His -face was pink and moist. - -Rio grinned wickedly. - -“He’s an exciting man, Carol. That’s why he says exciting things,” he -declared, emphasizing his words with a sly nod of approval. - -Roberts looked distastefully about him. “My God! This!—all over again!” -he thought. - -But Carol continued, beaming, “I knew a boy in Chicago that was almost -the same way as you, Martin. Every one of us boys said it must have been -a trick. He could just turn everything into the best time. And my!—he -was handsome! I think he was a bouncer at some cafe. And strong—Oooooh!” -Carol adjusted his yellow tie and his eyelids fluttered. - -Martin felt increasing annoyance at Rio’s persistent grin. - -Still Carol went on blindly. “I’d like to work the way you do, Martin, -and get oil and things on me from those machines. And that linotype you -operate!” he continued. “I’d just _love_ that!” He put his hands flat on -his trousers. “Imagine,” he said, turning to Deane at last, “having one -of those big things to play with!” - -Rio laughed openly, and Roberts turned away in disgust; but Martin said, -“That’s right, Carol. We’ll have a talk one day, all by ourselves.” -He went over to Rio. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to say -anything. But he cursed him with his eyes, and with a vagrant motion of -his lips. - -“What is it?” Rio asked him. - -Martin replied coldly, “You’re a fundamentalist. I can tell it from the -expression on your face.” Then he went to the door. Before he closed it -behind him he looked back. “It’s taken me nearly thirty years to get this -picture,” he said, and he was gone. - -Rio stared at the door where Martin had left. - -“There goes a clever lad,” he said. “He knows us well.” He turned to -Roberts and glared at him. “He knows you well, indeed. I’d hate to be -you. I can see the black days. And,” he added, laughing, “he knows me, -all right—but, he don’t know himself. He’ll whip himself to death.” -At the word “whip,” Rio had hesitated. Although the room was cool, he -started sweating. Without even saying good-by to Deane, he put on his -cap, quickly went outside and slammed the door so hard that the floor -shook. - -“Thank heaven,” said Roberts quietly. “Humanity is maintained—the -anthropoids have gone—civilization stands. Let them yell into space and -beat their knuckles on drums made of their own skins. But pray God, they -yell in the forest and not here. Thank heaven for Society!—even if it -is covered by a fool’s cap,” he continued, watching Carol. Turning his -eyes to the ceiling and then to Deane, he added incoherently, “We have -been shown our destiny. Our portraits, painted by savages, hang on -Olympus.... I hope, Deane, that you are not disturbed by the painting, -or,” he said, bowing, “by your destiny.” He breathed deeply, painfully. -His shoulders were bowed, his face whiter. “You must excuse me,” he said. -He walked to the door, opened it, walked out and closed it gently. - -Drew also went to Deane and spoke so that Carol could not hear. - -“A strange afternoon, little sister,” he said, bending over her -affectionately. Then he turned around. “I’m holding a drag to-morrow -night, Carol. I’d like to have you come.” - -Carol’s eyes sparkled. - -“Oh, Drew, I’d love it! To think!—I can come in drag!” - -Drew restrained an impulse to pet the boy who was regarding him -delightedly, as in some glorious enchantment. - -“There is a sort of radiance about him,” he thought, half smiling at -himself for thinking it. But as he left, Drew took Deane’s hand once -more. “Don’t see Roberts until I talk with you,” he whispered. Deane -nodded her head and Drew went into the hall. - -Carol twisted his cigarette holder, put in a cigarette and lit it grandly. - -“Isn’t he sweet?” he said. “Martin’s sweeter, though.... But the others!” -he added with disdain. “Of course, you have your own life, Deane, so I -won’t ask you why you tolerate such people about.” He sighed gratefully. -“But isn’t it nice, dear, to be alone? I never could stand vulgarness. -I’m really quite surprised at Mr. Roberts to let himself be upset by—” -Carol thought hard, but couldn’t quite understand what he was talking -about. He smiled gently though, and continued, “—to be upset by—well—just -everything.” He leaned back against his chair and put his feet up on -another. That was well said. He could tell from the way Deane looked that -it had affected her. - -Deane regarded the smiling, piggish face. - -“Sometimes, Carol,” she said, thoughtfully, “I don’t understand, either.” - -The night became darker and the lamps inside softened Carol’s features. -Deane tried to rest. It was good to be away from men for awhile. Even -Drew was difficult at times. She unfastened one of her stockings. Carol -smoked and smiled and nodded his head at the wall. This was as it should -be. - -Suddenly, to Deane, came the sickening realization that both Carol and -herself were thinking of the same man. - - - - -_CHAPTER XVI_ - - -After the maids had cleaned the apartment and had left, Drew went to the -dressing room, removed his white shirt and collar, handed them to a small -Chinese boy and seated himself before the vanity, observing the strain on -his features which had come so suddenly. - -“Your father was a wise man, little Tai,” he said to the child. “Place -your hand on my shoulder. Do you find it hot?” - -The child bowed and went to Drew, acting as he had been bidden. He -avoided Drew’s eyes in the mirror and his voice trembled. - -“Yes, Master,” he said, but he could not keep back his tears; so cupping -his tiny hand, the little, hot gems were caught before they fell upon -Drew’s head, which now rested upon the edge of the vanity. - -“We will go away very soon, Tai,” Drew said at last. - -The Chinese boy did not answer, still fearful of betraying his emotion; -but for an instant he hovered over Drew with the same patient love of his -own distant gods. - -“Master,” he whispered finally, “I have some secret petals from my -father. He told—he told me—” Little Tai burst into open tears and -kneeling, placed his head upon the floor. - -Drew turned around in surprise and seeing the lad prostrated before him, -bent his own shoulders lower, the Orient in his eyes. Then, scorning in -his tenderness all laws of blood and caste, he picked up the boy and laid -him upon the ottoman. Still weeping, Tai lay in a tiny curl, his golden -tunic tight against his back. Drew quickly knelt down and whispered to -him. - -“Were the petals for my bath, little one?” he asked. - -“Yes,” sobbed the child. - -“Tai,” said Drew gently, his soft fingers brushing the tears away, “they -were given to you for a time when I should be very sick. Is that not so?” - -“It is so, Master,” whispered the child. He sat up with a cat-like -movement. “I have a little golden whip, Master. Will you strike me?” - -Drew looked at him strangely. Rio had mentioned that word in a curious -fashion only the day before. Could it be that by coincidence?—Drew -stopped the course of his reflections and arose. The symbol of the whip -was ridiculous! - -“Bring me the scourge!” he said. - -Tai ran to a wall-cabinet, and from the vase which held his father’s -ashes he pulled, coil by coil, a gilded whip and handed it to Drew who -took it by its handle looking with intensity at the cruel barbs at the -end, and wondering if they were poisonous. - -“I shall not beat you, Tai,” he said finally. He looked now at the handle -and thong which held his wrist. “Tai,” he said, “are the petals a secret, -really?” - -“Yes, Master,” said the boy, smiling shyly. - -Drew held out his delicate fingers. - -Blushing, and timidly approaching, Tai bowed over his master’s hand; -and in his moment of adoration murmured a little prayer his mother had -taught him. Then taking a small, scented package from the breast of his -tunic, he ran toward the bathroom, turning once in the doorway to bow his -devotion. - -When he had gone, Drew replaced the whip and laid his arms across his -face. And as he heard the sound of small feet on the tile and the water -running for his bath, he looked again into the vanity and cried out in a -high, soft voice an unintelligible name.... - - * * * * * - -Tai twisted a white satin robe about Drew’s slender form as Floyd, the -hairdresser, was announced. - -“Is everything in readiness for Madame’s coiffure?” asked the expert, -mincing forward. - -“Yes, Florabelle,” said Drew, standing once more before the vanity. - -Tai withdrew with backward steps. - -“Florabelle” took a small silk handkerchief from his pocket and gently -dusted the bench upon which he suggested that “Madame” rest her slender -form. With much bowing and curtsying, Floyd was now ready to proceed -with his masterful art of transforming this man into a charming hostess. - -The beautician was slight, with tiny features. Although he was well on in -years, he looked no more than fifty. “A half century plant,” he had once -called himself. He wore his hair long and dyed it periodically, according -to the fashion. On his feet were patent leather pumps of shining black, -with medium heels. With his frock coat of gray he wore dark trousers. -While engaged in his profession, he affected a long white smock with a -lavender lace handkerchief in the pocket over his heart. His cheeks, -having been recently paraffined, were now symmetrical and would remain -that way for weeks to come, when their contour would again have to be -remodeled. - -He fingered Drew’s hair, combing it straight back from the head. The -short locks fell gracefully between his fingers as they discussed the -different styles—dismissing this, then that one until the matter was -decided. Then quickly Floyd began his craft. - -“Madame,” he said, “as a privileged acquaintance of long standing, do I -know any of your guests of this evening?” - -“Yes, Florabelle,” said Drew, in a soft and gracious tone. “You recall -Beulah. She has been suffering lately with acute indigestion and general -complications. But she’s coming.” - -“My _dear_ Madame!” The artist raised his eyes to the ceiling. “_That_ -one! _She_ should have retired from society years ago! She is very well -fixed financially, you know, but oh!—she is so tight! I’ll wager she’s -home now dressing her own hair! Imagine! The ends will all be burned, and -there’ll probably be some burns on her neck. It simply makes me shiver! -And she’ll wait until she gets here to-night to use _your_ powder! It’s -not that I care—but I could transform her into a beautiful person. Her -taste is vile—simply vile! And dearie, with _that_ face!—I’d have to work -for hours and hours! As I’ve said before, I don’t care what she does, but -she _could_ be made ravishing!” - -Florabelle’s dainty white fingers had been busy at work—shampooing and -rinsing—and were now in the act of combing the hair and turning the soft -ends under. - -“What gown has Madame selected to enhance her singular beauty, if I may -ask?” questioned the little hairdresser. - -“White velvet, ’Belle. I feel nostalgic this evening,” answered Drew. - -“Ah!” cried Florabelle in delight. “Then indeed I have a gorgeous -surprise for you! I have an amazing lotion, greaseless, odorless, which -tints the hair an incredibly lovely white. I used it on Monsieur—” he -bent down and whispered a name into Drew’s ear. “She insisted upon it. -Madame was _very gay_ that evening. It was the first time I had tried the -preparation on any of my exclusive clientele. Madame was wearing a short -velvet jacquette of green over her white velvet gown; and she wore green -rouge on her cheeks and lips in the current Parisian fashion. Dearie,” -the hairdresser put one finger to his lips and took a step backward, -“would you like to be the first to use these tints in America?” - -“I should love white hair with the dress,” said Drew thoughtfully. “But -not the green. I prefer to wear a small jacquette of black velvet lined -with red. Make my lips the same shade as the lining.” - -“Oh!” cried Florabelle. “You shall be a dream!” And he set to work. - -Drew sat quietly, continually admiring himself in the mirror—an -occasional turn of the lip or a raised eyebrow showing approval—amazed -with each glance at the artistry of the man who was transforming him. - -Florabelle talked incessantly, constantly gesturing until Madame’s -coiffure was finished. - -“Ah, Drewena!” now cried the little hairdresser. “You are complete—so -perfect!” he exclaimed delightedly, finishing off with a touch of perfume -upon the eyebrows and behind the lobes of Drew’s ears. - - * * * * * - -Drewena walked slowly through the drawing room and critically observed -the fold of the draperies. It was just before twilight and through a -high, oval window crested with stained glass, she idly watched the towers -below her. There were tears in her eyes. The light became softer, barely -touching now the throats of the doves which nested in the eaveless -pinnacles, subduing the irregular flash against their wings. Their -silent, ever-changing motion somehow caused her to think of Martin; and -the recollection of the mannerisms of her friend—that isolate, strange -night in the cocktail lounge—his actions there, sometimes gentle, but -more times cruel, made Drewena close her eyes. Why these tears?—like -those of a younger passion—full of the same anxiety, the same dull anger -at enslavement and desire to escape! She looked into the east, formed -her lips into a smile and turned away. Tying her white satin robe more -closely about her waist, Drewena sat down at the piano, one slim, white -leg against the casing of deep ivory. On each end of the piano was a tall -cathedral taper, lighted. The irradiance was vague under her hands as she -improvised. The melody was reminiscent of Chopin, and again of Debussy. -Drewena consciously built a theme upon their lovely chords, and smiled to -herself as she thought of the semblance of originality attained by other -contemporary plagiarists. As she continued to improvise, Patsy, known as -“Pat” on more sober days, entered the drawing room. - -An “English” butler, whose father had been Irish, Patsy was carrying a -small bouquet of black lilies brought from the Malay peninsula at great -trouble by Drew’s florist. Devoid of her usual attire, Patsy was somewhat -ridiculous. Her concave nose and forehead where the toupee failed to -hide the round, bald skull, gave her a strange type of “swish.” Her -upper teeth sagged in the back when she talked, and her bulbous lips had -the appearance of an aging tomato. She wore a little “how-de-do!” of -white lace upon her wig which had become entwined in it. A single wart -of considerable size pushed through the tiny cap which fell at intervals -over her nose for lack of better support. Her black silk skirt was -short, showing the bony protuberance of her knee where once, in a moment -of folly, she had mounted a horse and was promptly unseated, bruised -and flattened. Her blouse was full, barely concealing two lemons she -had taken from the icebox. Altogether, with her wide grin and unhappy -form she was seemingly the most pathetic of creatures. But when Drewena -languidly motioned for silence while she played on, there was an amused -understanding between the servant and mistress as Patsy adjusted the -flowers on one corner of a table where they would catch the reflection of -their darkness in a tall mirror whose frame was a wreath of golden doves -in flight. - - * * * * * - -In Deane’s living room, Martin stood by the divan examining a -long-trained evening gown of canary yellow. Its pale satin sheen in the -lamplight was unusually luminous against the blur of the couch. Martin -spoke earnestly. - -“But I don’t understand, Deane. A guest can’t be just an observer at one -of these private affairs. I’d be clumsy. I wouldn’t fit in and I don’t -see why you want me to go.” - -There was a perverse light in Deane’s eyes. She was thinking strangely. -She wondered: _Is he sure, really sure he won’t fit in?_ But aloud she -said, “Drew invited you and that is sufficient reason.” - -Martin looked at the dress again. - -“Am I supposed to wear that fantastic rig just to satisfy a whim of yours -and Drew’s? I tell you, Deane, the entire situation is repellant to me.” - -Again Deane thought in the same odd manner: _It isn’t like him to shy -away from anything. He knows himself so well—is it that he’s afraid?_—she -stopped these thoughts. “It only seems repellant, Martin,” she observed. -“Drew will make things easy.” She bit her lip. “And Carol and Roberts -will be there, too. Why don’t you take it as a joke?” She tried to laugh, -but the effect was so hollow and unusual that Martin turned and put his -arms around her. - -“What is really behind this, Deane?” he asked her gently. “Is Drew -attempting a new type of drama, and are you in on it? If it’s a game, -I’ll go along with you.” - -“It isn’t a game,” said Deane insistently. “There isn’t anything dark -or mysterious about it. It’s just a costume party—a stag affair, that’s -all.” She avoided his searching gaze. - -Martin laughed brutally, the hurt and sickness inside him manifested. -Then he sobered, looked at her steadily for a moment, a faint shine in -his eyes. - -“All right,” he said quietly. “What do I do first?...” - -After he had taken a bath, he shaved as closely as possible and rubbed -his glowing body with a scent not unpleasant, although he imagined that -he detected the impossible effluvium of man-oil as its base. Next he -pulled on long stockings of a light sun-tan, his lip curling. But the -curious feel of silken underwear and all the intricacies of the garter -belt intrigued him, and he laughed aloud as he fastened his stockings -to it. The artificial breasts were made of soft rubber fiber, of medium -size and cup-shaped in appearance. It was with considerable trouble that -he hooked these objects on, the elastic and stays acting contrary. The -dress went over his head with difficulty, also; but he twisted and pulled -it until it came into place. After he had smoothed out the wrinkles -with his hands and set it square with a few quick jerks he felt more -comfortable—the gown was even cool and good against his belly. So he sat -down with relief and put on the pale yellow satin slippers set aside for -him. When he stood up, however, one ankle bent under the strain of the -high heel. After that he moved more cautiously, trying to remember the -principles of navigation on an icy, rolling deck, and although he lacked -a certain naturalness, he soon walked easily enough. - -Deane laughed and clapped her hands when she saw him and seemed herself -again; but in a moment she returned to the grim abstruseness of her -former attitude. She narrowed her eyes, put on an apron, then draped a -towel around his neck to keep from spilling the make-up on his shoulders. -Martin leaned back, closing his eyes in silent despair; while Deane, -testing each shade of lipstick on her hand until she found the right -one, realized that she had never tried so hard with herself. She gave his -lips, which seemed carved, a brilliant color for the artificial light. - -“Damn it,” he said. - -Deane did not reply. It was unlikely that she heard him, for the same -antagonistic attitude surrounded her; and, too, she was absorbed by her -painstaking job. The blue line of underbeard around the jaw and chin had -to be blocked out; for this, she used a flesh-colored paste, rubbing it -in gently. The rice powder was rachel in shade, made almost the color of -Martin’s skin by the addition of a pinch of ocher. This was carefully -smoothed away. She used no rouge. And so she continued, blending and -examining, until she stepped aside to view her finished handiwork and -exclaimed rather sharply, “Sit up!” - -Which Martin did, looking at her with a kind of agitated wonder. But -Deane, seeing only his face—with his gray eyes now turned to green, and -his somewhat melancholy expression softened by women’s devices, ran to -him, fell on her knees and began to weep deeply. At this, Martin lifted -her to him, holding her, trying to kiss her cheeks. But she slipped away -and dried her tears and blew her nose, saying, “It would spoil your looks -and I’ve worked too hard for that.” - -He started to put his hand to his head but Deane cried out, “Oh, no!” -For his hair, parted in the middle, had been combed back of the ears -to a point at the base of his neck, where a braid, similar in shade -and texture, had been cleverly attached, wrapped and pinned. His hair -was now the same wheat-like color as his skin; and the cold, precise -line from his head to his shoulders had the essence of that deliberate, -calculated passion which so often appeals to the sensitized, yet physical -individual. When at last he stood up and lit a cigarette, leaning with a -conscious gracefulness upon the piano, Deane went to him and looked up at -him uncertainly. Seeing him stand there in such elegance and strength, -she bitterly regretted the perversity which had driven her to push him -toward this mad adventure. And though her pride rebelled at calling it -off at this late moment, she said rather timidly, “Of course, Martin, you -don’t have to go if you really dislike it so much.” - -“What?” he almost shouted, looking at her incredulously. “Well, I’ll be -damned!” - -“Oh, hush!” said Deane nervously. “Of course you’re going! I was just -teasing.” But she looked at this man in woman’s clothing and she realized -she had never been so attracted. She watched the long muscles flex in his -arm as he moved his cigarette. A furious desire struck her. - -“You must hurry,” she whispered, gritting her teeth. “You will be late.” -Again Martin looked at her steadily, the green glaze covering his eyes. - -“I’ll return immediately after the party,” he said, picking up the wrap -she had chosen for him. “Read this—” and he pressed a letter into her -hands and left, unsmiling. - -When he had gone, Deane opened the letter with feverish haste and read -it swiftly. Still standing, she threw it across the room, removed her -hairpins and mussed her hair until it was wild. With a sob she flung -herself face down on the divan and worked her body on the pillows until -she screamed. Then she wept until she fell asleep. - - * * * * * - -Carol arrived at the drag wearing a leopard cape with a high, stiff -collar. There was a single stone in his triple-peaked tiara, filigree -work coiling around the gem. Patsy helped him off with his wrap, glanced -slyly at his rather buxom figure, and announced him in the drawing room -in a falsetto voice. - -“Miss Stevens,” cried Patsy, in her unusual pitch. - -Drewena hurried forward and put her arms around her guest. - -“Carrie!” she exclaimed. “You look simply gorgeous!” - -Carrie’s cheeks deepened with pleasure. Her saucer-like eyes gave out a -wet, blue happiness. - -“I’m _so_ glad you like me,” she said. “I didn’t want to look tacky.” - -“‘Tacky,’ indeed!” said Drewena, for the beauty of Carrie’s gown -astonished her. “_That_,” she continued, looking at the dress, “_is_ a -creation! Where did you find it?” - -Carrie’s eyes shone with pride, though at the same time there was -delicacy in the way she modeled the skirt with her hands. - -“I didn’t find it, Drewena. I designed it. I made it for next spring, -thinking perhaps I _might_ be a June bride. I planned to do it in white -if the style was attractive.” Carrie looked a little anxious. “Is the -severe line too much for my hips?—they are rather large.” - -“Of course not, dear,” answered Drewena. “It is very becoming.” - -“Then,” said Carrie, “you _do_ prefer the material to taffeta or crepe. -I’m _so_ glad,” she continued. “Those flouncy things always make me -feel like a middle-aged matron.” She pushed the blonde hair of her -transformation more firmly behind her ears and touched the roll at the -back of her neck. - -Drewena marveled at the change in her young friend. How awkward and -lonely Carol had appeared in the stilted, formalized trousers styled -for men! And how charming was this lovely Carrie, away from the stiff -tailoring of masculine attire! - -Drewena studied the gown. As she saw it, the waist-line—the Grecian -fashion in which the garment fell into the imperceptible folds of the -long train, had the artless symmetry of certain sculpture. The dress was -without sleeves, close-fitting, with high, pointed breasts, and with -its back cut low, to the waist. Its color was a gentle pink of shaded -salmon that blended into Carrie’s smooth bare arms. There were two golden -bracelets on her wrists and two small bells on the ring-finger of her -left hand. Following the soft curve of her throat was an exquisite, -golden necklace. As she stood and turned in such a manner that her white -back, with a tiny mole on the shoulder could be seen, Drewena put her arm -around her waist, and pulled her aside, where they could talk alone. - -Out in the hall, Carrie grasped the arm of her hostess. - -“Will Martin be here to-night?” she asked almost shyly. - -Drewena frowned. - -“I don’t know, my dear,” she said at last, noting the child-like look of -disappointment which appeared on Carrie’s face. - -Inside the dressing room, which had been transformed into a powder room -for the guests, a pompous creature was seated at the vanity. “Beulah” was -a retired manufacturer with a great deal of money in the bank, but no -penchant for spending it. In fact, she was known to drive the sharpest -bargain for “trade” of any of her sisters, never carrying more than a -quarter in her pocket when she cruised. Nor did her pick-up have to be -presentable, for she worked the doughnut shift. “They’re all the same,” -she used to say sententiously. “Just throw a sack over it, and shoo it -out before dawn.... And never give them breakfast,” she would caution, -if permitted. “It spoils them.” Whenever the fleet was in, she would go -into retirement. She would lock all her doors and keep her butler on -a kind of sentry duty, not even admitting a hallboy who might have an -idle moment. As far as the fleet was concerned, no one quite understood -Beulah’s strange reaction. But it was established fact that once, -avoiding her usual care, she had sneaked away to the drugstore for a -soda. Intent upon her guzzling, she had failed to notice a sailor who had -sat down close beside her. But upon turning her head and seeing the man -in uniform, Beulah had let out a shriek, her eyeballs had rolled upward -and she had fainted dead away. Some said that doubtless it had been some -frightful experience which had given her this strange allergy. “It must -_simply_ have put her in stitches!” one of her friends had observed.... -As for the hallboys, it was true, she never paid them well; but there -were always things to be picked up, and Beulah’s eyes were failing. The -hallboys loved her for this little infirmity, and never took anything -more than they felt was honestly due. Altogether, Beulah was regarded as -a rather queer, but decidedly powerful person in her set; and no young -debutante could expect a successful coming out unless Beulah was behind -her—which she usually was. - -Thus Drewena realized the value of this social contact for Carrie if the -young girl was to spend much time in New York. - -“You look awfully nice this evening, Beulah,” she said. “What are you -doing out here all alone?” - -“Powdering my face like _mad_,” Beulah answered, daintily packing the -rich powder into the sore jaw and chin where she had shaved too closely. -“Those faggots outside are dishing me to death. Just wait till I go in, -though. They’ll stop their cackling!” - -Drewena led Carrie to her by the hand. - -“Beulah,” she said, “I want you to take Carrie under your wing to-night. -She may not be in New York long and I want her to have a grand evening. -I’ll want her part of the time, when I’m not going the rounds.” - -Beulah lifted her sagging, experienced face to Carrie, who stood there, -fluttering slightly. Then the dowager graciously held out both her hands. - -“I’ll show you the _best_ people, dearie,” she said. “Just hold on to -your old auntie’s arm and we’ll see if there isn’t some trade in sheep’s -clothing. And by the way,” she added, smiling shrewdly in the sunless -room, “is that little bitch, Kate, going to be here? I’ve made a vow to -do that one! She can’t fool these old professional eyes—tired though they -may be.” - -Drewena laughed. - -“Yes, Beulah, she’s here. And quite beautiful too, in green. She just got -back from Chili—some kind of an electrical engineering project.” - -“‘Project,’ my grandmother!—rest her bones.” Beulah sniffed. “Doing -the Indians again—what she sees in _them_ is beyond me! But the hussy -_is_ interesting.” Beulah swished the bow at her back, spread the wide -skirts of her lavender gown and opened a long black ostrich feather -fan. Breathing deeply, so that her large bust swelled out, she followed -Drewena out of the room, taking Carrie on her arm. - -“There she is,” she whispered hoarsely, and the old lady stopped to -glance covetously at Kate. - -Kate was dressed in a green velvet gown of a deep jade cast. Her necklace -was of intercircled loops of jade as was her linked green bracelet. The -earrings were slender pendants of the same hue and stone. With this -ensemble she was bound to use a cautious make-up—her skin, tanned by the -flat sun of the Andes, being almost enough. Only a dark red splash across -her lips, as though she had been recklessly eating cherries, seemed a -necessary cosmetic. Her black hair was curled bewitchingly, up from the -forehead and sides. When she saw Beulah, she beckoned wildly and the -green purse which hung from her arm banged against a punchbowl which was -near the tiny bar. - -“Common!” someone said in a stage whisper, but Kate only laughed and -crooked her finger at Beulah again, who strode forward with aggressive, -formidable steps, half dragging Carrie. - -“Have a drink, darlin’?” asked Kate, looking up at the dowager. - -“Thank you, my dear,” said Beulah, in an affected voice. “It’s _so_ sweet -of you to ask me.” - -Kate ladled out two drinks. As she handed one to Carrie, she said, -“That’s a lovely gown, honey. Drewena told me you made it yourself. Why -don’t you drop around at my place some time next week and show me how you -do it?” - -Beulah coughed slightly and pinched Carrie’s arm. - -Kate turned to her with another glassful of punch. - -“Here you are, dear,” she said. “It will be good for you.” But she was -thinking, “I’ll bet it’s the first free drink she’s had in months!” -Aloud, Kate spoke again. “And now, darlin’, _do_ have another.” - -Beulah nodded graciously, her eyes a little brighter. - -Kate thought once more, “You old bitch! I hope you choke on it and get as -blue as blue can be!” - -“Kate, dearie,” said Beulah, after her fourth, “there’s just the right -touch of bitters to the bottle—it makes one have a feeling of heavenly -bliss!” - -Kate smiled and thought, “You don’t know a good drink from a bad one. You -just take all you can get, and that’s all you know. You might have been -pretty in your day—but your blooming days are past forever.” - -At this moment, a splendid creature bore down upon them, all sails set. -She was a broad-shouldered fellow, whose snappy skirts and impudent -coiffure failed to cover her intention. - -“Mercy!” she exclaimed. “Just dishing it!” - -Kate took a whisky straight and smiled at the “debbie” in a tantalizing -fashion. - -“To think,” said Kate, “a moment ago there wasn’t a piece of trade in -sight! I was just hoping.” - -The big girl turned around and looked back over her shoulder. - -“Oh!” she cried in an obligato, “you New Yorkers _can_ be so bitchy!” -Then she sailed on and rounded the turn to the powder-room. - -“Dirt!” said Beulah. - -“Tawdry!” exclaimed Carrie. - -“From Boston?” asked Beulah. - -“No, Baltimore,” answered Kate. “Working up from the bottom in her -father’s steel mill, I believe. That’s where she got the muscles. The -thick head came naturally though.” Kate opened her purse and took out a -small bottle of perfume from which she removed the stopper. Shaking a -few drops of the scent on her fingers, she touched them to her ears and -throat, patting the remaining moisture on the imperceptible beard around -her chin. - -Just then, Patsy’s familiar voice announced “Miss Roberts.” - -Drewena was standing by the door as the newcomer, somber of face even -through her high, natural coloring, and as Drewena thought, all the more -beautiful because of her stone-like gravity, entered the drawing room; -for, dressed in a cunningly fashioned gown of silver cloth, she looked -more like an impassioned Joan of Arc in mailed armor than a modern -executive of lives. Around her throat lay her mother’s string of black -pearls, and her hands were encased in an unusual muff of blue fox. - -“I’m so glad you came after all, Roberta,” said the hostess quietly. “You -have been keeping too much to yourself, and I’m sure that you’ll have -a little fun to-night. Carrie is here—she’s the most amusing camp! And -Kate, and Beulah, and Docky——” - -“Damn them all!” interrupted Roberta. “Take me to that corner over there -where no one is standing.” - -Drewena saw the painful expression on her face and nodded agreement, -sitting down with her for a moment. - -“Is Martin coming to-night?” asked Roberta nervously. - -“Why, yes,” said Drewena. “That is, I think so. I sent him a note, urging -him to be here. I have such a pretty name for him.” - -“Yes, yes, of course,” answered Roberta, a little absently, tapping her -silver slipper against the side of her chair. “Is Rio coming?” - -“Indeed not,” said Drewena, amazed at the question. “Ask that man up?—I -should say not!” - -“‘Man’—my petticoat!” observed Roberta. “What’s the matter with you, -Drewena? _That_ one is dashed for fair! Her hard-boiled act doesn’t fool -me a bit. She’s a damned _poseur_ and as full of bitchery as——” - -“Stop shaking,” broke in Drewena. “For heaven’s sake! All the cats are -beginning to gossip about the way you’re acting. See old Docky talking -with her hand over her mouth? She knows perfectly well that I can read -lips. If she hadn’t been a splendid surgeon in her day and attended my -father years ago, I should never have invited her.” - -And Docky was saying to the more elderly group clustered around her at -this moment, “It’s shameful the way Roberta monopolizes Drewena’s time. -In a way though, one can’t blame her. For dearies, Roberta hasn’t long -to be a queen at the rate _she’s_ going!” Docky pulled her shawl more -tightly about her neck. - -“What _is_ wrong with her, Docky?” asked one rather vapid, sweet-faced -auntie. “Is she sick?” - -At this, Docky raised her lorgnette and looked at the speaker, a quiver -of amusement lacing her cheeks back and forth until it seemed they would -have met if her nose hadn’t kept them apart. - -“Precious!” She lifted her hand. Enormous jewels sparkled and flickered -on every finger. “_I_ wouldn’t know. I haven’t been out with her since -she was a child—ah!” Docky breathed. “Those halcyon days!” - -Back in the corner Drewena sighed. - -“If you won’t, you won’t, Roberta; but it looks like intrigue, and I hate -intrigue. You’re positive you won’t give even a short number? I wish -you’d read one of your own lovely poems. You did, last year, and they’ll -expect it. Of course, if you won’t, I’ll send Carrie over to keep you -company during the program.” - -“Not unless you want a murder at your drag,” said Roberta in such a -menacing voice that Drewena started, then watched her guest for a -moment until the fire was out of Roberta’s eyes, and some of the hatred -expressed on her face had dissipated. - -“Roberta,” she said at last, “if you are ill, you should go home. It -would be doing both of us a kindness.” - -“I’m not sick,” said Roberta evenly. - -“Why do you hate Carrie so much?” persisted Drewena. - -“Don’t talk like that,” said Roberta, in despair. “It’s just that she -_thinks_ of Martin. She thinks of him in a terrible way. Please don’t -question me further.” Roberta opened her compact, studied herself in the -tiny mirror and powdered her face lightly, smoothing away the lines from -her forehead and looking with detachment at the shadows under her eyes. -Drewena took her hand for an instant and held it tightly before she left. -But as she walked toward the punchbowl with its merry company, there was -an intimate, definite foreboding and a striking glance of prescience from -her heavy-lidded eyes. Her appearance was so exotic, so provocative, that -when Kate offered her a drink, she wanted to offer her a kiss as well. - -The widows around Docky, however, were still discussing Roberta. - -“Look at her,” said Daisy, the pretty one. “Holding her jaws down at the -side in that manner. If I were half so pretty as she, I wouldn’t hide in -the corner like that.” - -“I’ll _bet_ you wouldn’t,” yawned Docky, grasping her upper plate, as she -had a horror of swallowing it. - -Again Patsy’s high voice rang out, this time against the music of the -orchestra. - -“Miss Devaud,” she bawled. - -Drewena’s face grew whiter as she went gracefully but swiftly to the -arch-like entrance to greet the new arrival, whose perfect casting—the -unusual make-up against the wheat-colored hair, against the long, pale -yellow dress, against the turquoise of her eyes, and the strong, uneven -modeling of her features brought the hostess to a stop before she reached -her guest. - -“Beautiful Miriam,” she whispered. - -Miriam contemplated Drewena without expression, though enjoying her -beauty far more than she liked to admit. While Drewena was thinking in -confusion how and where to get her friend alone—away from the others who -would spoil her with their eyes—yes, with their thoughts, as Roberta had -said. If she, Drewena, could only touch her once—could only hold her.... -So taking her guest by the hand, she quickly pulled her back into the -hall. - -“Come upstairs for a moment, Miriam,” she whispered hoarsely. “You must -have earrings to make you perfect. I have some of jet that will make you -lovelier than ever!” They ascended the wide spiral staircase. - -Carrie ran after them. On the bottom step she paused. As they disappeared -around a bend in the stairs, Carrie clung tightly to the newel post. -Then turning, her eyes wide, she stepped down and hurried to Beulah. - -Roberta, sitting in her corner, saw all this, and the rapidity with -which she changed coloring caused old Docky to chuckle something about -adrenalin. But Roberta was really acting strangely. She seemed ready -to leave her chair, then at intervals would pull something halfway out -of her muff. Docky could not quite see, for Roberta covered the object -cleverly. Each movement, however, was hesitant, until finally, with a -certain air of fatalism, Roberta settled down in a rigid posture which -she maintained for some time. - -Upstairs, Drewena opened a door beyond the staircase, and led Miriam -out on the terrace. Saturn was in conjunction with the frozen moon. -Midway between the zenith and the horizon, the moon, as if by some -prearrangement lightened Drewena’s white face until her beauty would have -been nebulous had she not been pressed so closely to her friend. Miriam’s -face, however, had caught the amber tone of the planet, and her cheeks -seemed flushed as though by moonburn. Drewena pulled her inside again and -sat beside her on the bed. She turned out the indirect lights and lay -down, her head on Miriam’s lap. The moon shone upon them brightly. - -“Miriam,” she said, “is that a halo around your head, dearest?” - -“It’s the moon in the fuzz of my wig,” answered Miriam seriously. - -Drewena sighed. “How I wish,” she said, “that we could have stayed out on -the terrace!—Perhaps we can come up here after the guests have gone.... -This bed is so deep and wide, we’ll cool off quickly.... And to-morrow -we can go to a little cottage I have up on the coast near Cape Cod.... -We’ll listen to the wind—and there’ll be snow, and the surf breaking -on the rocks under our doorstep.... You’ll carry a lamp to help me to -my bed. I want to be dependent on you—oh! you understand!” Drewena put -her gentle hands on Miriam’s cheeks. “They’re hot, Miriam. Perhaps you -are excited, too—perhaps I won’t have to go away as I told Tai! He’s my -little protegé! I’ll send him to France with his tutor.... My dearest, -tell me that I needn’t go!” - -Miriam petted her gently and explained quite simply that of course -she didn’t have to leave; but when that was said, she kept repeating, -“Go!—go!—go!—” continuing to blend the words until they became -untranslatable. - -Drewena looked at her in astonishment. - -“What do you mean?” she asked. “Those words—they have a cadence that -makes me feel insane—Please don’t talk like that!... Dear God!—All I ask -is that you bear with me. I’d never cheat Deane. It’s on a different -plane. Quite different. Kiss my lips, Miriam—I’m tired—so tired.” - -“Aye,” said Miriam gently, “that I _can_ do! For you’re as sweet a little -maiden as I’ve ever seen, lying so in the moonlight.” And bending over, -she pressed her lips upon Drewena’s. The white-tinted hair fell over -her shoulders and Drewena shuddered as Deane had shuddered. There was no -distaste, for Drewena lay quietly now in Miriam’s arms, only a slight, -convulsive movement betraying her passion. Then Miriam sat up and leaned -away as though into the moon; for a feeling had come over her during that -kiss that she could not interpret. It was a half sick, half desirous mood -of great intensity. And so, unaccustomed to tempering her emotions, she -threw Drewena back upon the bed and held her tightly, her mouth pressing -on her throat. Drewena did not resist until the desire had grown and -Miriam groped blindly. Then quickly Drewena struggled away and as quickly -turned on the lamps. - -“Not now,” she laughed, a splendid light in her eyes. “Later—after the -party. Oh,” she exclaimed, bending toward her friend, “it’s the heaven -I thought I’d never find—the soul, the mind, the body.... But now, we -must hurry and touch ourselves up.” And she hung the long, jet pendants -from Miriam’s ears. So the gowns were smoothed out, the hair recombed and -pinned, the make-up applied anew. - -When at last they entered the drawing room there was only the faintest -buzzing of interest among the more intrepid of the gossipers. Even this -ceased as Drewena, her arm linked closely in Miriam’s, stopped at various -groups to introduce her friend. Docky stopped chattering just long enough -to size up Miriam’s figure. - -“Miriam, my dear,” she said at once, “if I’d known _you_ were coming, -I’d have worn my new gown of cardinal red. To think!—you see me in -the faded splendor of this musty blue! You must come and chat with us -this evening.” She looked at Miriam intently and pulled her shawl even -tighter. Then she smiled, a good deal of understanding and more than -that, compassion, expressed in her face. When Drewena took Miriam with -her to the punchbowl, Beulah turned on Docky in a fury. - -“Only past sixty, and you’re back to childhood! I could scratch your eyes -out! Miriam is simply lovely, and now you’ve driven her away!” - -“There, there,” Docky said, in her best professional tone. “It’s just as -well—Drewena loves him.” - -“‘Him’?” screeched Daisy, fascinated. - -“Don’t get so excited, Daisy. Remember your blood pressure,” said Docky -calmly. “Of course, ‘him’! The boy’s as jam as the preserves you used to -steal off your mother’s shelf!” - -“Absurd!” said Beulah. “She has a _grand_ dash!” - -“On the edge, dearie, but he’s never fallen off, and I doubt if he ever -will. The habit pattern has unfortunately fixated him for women. Ah!—if I -could have had him to mold some years ago!” - -“_‘Jam’!_” cried Daisy once more, her hands to her ears. - -Docky pushed back the wisps of gray hair from her forehead and took out -her left eye, wiping it carefully. - -“Mercy!” said Beulah. “_Must_ you do that in company?” She tossed her -head angrily. “And don’t tell us how you lost your real one at Ypres! -There!” She pointed swiftly toward the punchbowl. “I _knew_ it! Kate is -trying to snitch Miriam from Drewena!” - -“Common!” said the same sepulchral voice that had uttered this word -before. - -Everyone turned around to see who had repeated it, but there was no one -in sight. Docky chuckled. - -Kate was speaking vivaciously to Miriam until she caught Drewena’s eye, -whereupon she merely shrugged her strong bare shoulders and turned -petulantly away. The moment of ensuing silence was broken by Patsy’s -high-pitched tremulo, which seemed to be growing weaker. - -“Miss Murphy!” she shouted feebly. - -Miss Murphy did not wait for Drewena’s welcome. She flew into the room -in a state of deshabille, her black lace dress torn slightly on the -shoulder, her corsage of gardenias darkening around the edges as though -they had been crushed in a heavy fist. - -“Oh, my God!” she said, breathing heavily as Drewena comforted her. - -Kate stole a glance at Miriam and whispered, “Doing the taxis again!” -Then she took a glass to the newcomer. - -“Drink this, Sophie,” she began, when the other turned on her, stamping -her foot and pulling the torn lace back over her shoulder. - -“Don’t you _dare_ offer me any of that sickening, frothy slop!” she -cried. “I want a straight one, or I’ll just _die_!” - -Kate lifted the glass and drained it. - -“‘It was good enough for mother, and it’s good enough for me,’” she -quoted sweetly. But Drewena called for a glassful of whisky and handed it -to Sophie who began to drink it greedily. - -Docky had her hand over her mouth again and was leaning toward Beulah. - -“Don’t look now,” she said. “Sophie’s watching us like _mad_. I’ll bet -she thinks we’re dishing her.” - -“Well, dearie,” said Beulah, her hand covering her lips also, “she’s -right. But I won’t smile, and don’t you _dare_ look now.” - -But Docky went on, the rest of the group straining toward her, for no one -could dish like Docky. - -“My God, Beulah,” she said, “they speak of _courage_ in history. But she -has a _nerve_ to come here in _that_ lace!” - -“‘Lace’!” Beulah appeared shocked. “She bought that netting at the ten -cent store to cover her trade with, when she gets that Cleopatrine -feeling! No _wonder_ all the cab drivers around Pennsylvania Station are -looking tired these days!” - -“Shish!” said Docky. “Look now, dearie. She’s terrible from the front. Do -you notice her fallen chest?... And what do you think of the back? And -oh!—what ugly hands! I’m sure those hands have snitched many pieces of -silver in _her_ time!” - -“I don’t care how much silver she has snitched,” said Beulah, “but I _do_ -hope she’ll keep her dirty mitts off Miriam. Really, Docky, you don’t -honestly believe that Miriam might be jam, now do you?” - -Docky leaned over and spoke into Beulah’s ear. - -“Don’t tell anyone, but I’m really sure. I really shouldn’t have told -you, but since you have thrown so much my way in the past——” - -“Christ!” said Daisy, fidgeting with her lavaliere. “Sophie really makes -me ill. She always looks as though she’s straight from the washtub.” - -“True,” said Docky, “from the shanty on the other side of the tracks. -It’s a shame for her to have money, with me dodging creditors like _mad_! -Look at her trying to be elegant, wiping her nose with her soft, raggy -wrist—and dearie, her nose isn’t running from a cold. _That_ one’s been -broken down for years and years. Old saddley ass! She looks as though she -had three pillows in her rear!” - -“It _is_ indecent,” agreed Beulah. “And she doesn’t have fallen arches -for nothing. She’s been cruising _most_ of her life.” - -“That she has!” said Docky. “My God!” Docky leaned forward excitedly. -“She’s picking up her skirts! Do you see those varicose veins on her leg? -They stand out like the knots on a pinetree!” - -Drewena was now urging Sophie to give the first “number” of the evening. -But Sophie, partly drunk from her brief, but thrilling escapade with the -cab driver, kept showing a bruise on her shoulder. - -“It hit me! The person really hit me! It was all over that cage I brought -for my number. Will you have Patsy bring me the cage I left with her? -I’ll be in the powder room.” - -When she had gone, Drewena explained to Miriam that each guest always -gave a little act. - -Miriam was thunderstruck. - -“I don’t know anything to do. It’s impossible for me.” - -“Just anything,” said Drewena, with composure. “It doesn’t have to be -much.” - -Miriam thought a moment, observing the heavy beam above her, the high -ceiling and the shadows. - -“Was that Tai whom I saw peeping out into the hall a moment ago? The -child looked Indo-Chinese. If you’d lend him to me....” - -“I can’t risk the child,” said Drewena slowly. “His father nursed me. And -next to you, Miriam, I love him better than anyone but Deane.” Drewena -gave a queer smile. “_She_ has a portion of the roundtable of my mind -that no one, not even you, my dearest, can fathom.” - -“I won’t hurt the child,” said Miriam earnestly. “He’ll think it’s a lot -of fun. You can see what I’ll do!” - -“It isn’t that,” said Drewena, flushing. Then, “All right. Tai is yours -for the trick. What else do you need?” - -“A man with powerful shoulders, and a rope,” said Miriam. “And have the -orchestra play loudly while I work.” - -Suddenly Drewena laughed. - -“Oh, you are really good!—I see it now. You’ve always just pretended to -be an impossible person. I believe you’d cry easily.” - -“Yes, I cry very easily,” Miriam agreed. - -“Have you seen Roberta?” asked Drewena suddenly. “She was asking about -you.” - -“You mean Roberts? No, I haven’t.” - -“Well, she’s in a corner, pouting about something. It’s either you, or -Carrie—perhaps even myself. She is in a terrible mood to-night. Please -don’t have a scene with her. And please, Miriam, remember, this _is_ a -drag. I don’t care how masculine they may seem to you,—call them by their -feminine names, or address them impersonally as ‘she.’ Do you see Beulah -over there in her lavender gown?... He was thirty-nine and three times -married before he recognized himself for what he was. Being a flexible -character, he slipped quite naturally into his present rôle—that of a -tight-fisted, gossipy old dowager, but behind the intermittent lechery -of his old and experienced eyes he is a strong man and a gentleman. No -one in the everyday world even suspects. They’ve marked him down, in -fact, as a devil with the ladies. Kate is a harsher type. He married -one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. She bore him a lovely -boy. Then one day, Kate became irritated over a trifle and threw his -wife across the room. Fortunately, she was not injured; but he went into -a ‘break’ or nervous explosion. From that, into a depressive state and -out of it in a wild hysteria. Then came his first love—his consulting -psychiatrist.... The pattern was woven swiftly enough—and Kate, too, -slipped into her niche, not so pleasant a one as Beulah’s, who takes them -as she finds them. Kate is now searching desperately. You will not?—” -Drewena hesitated. “Forgive me, Miriam. And now, let us visit Roberta. -Please give her a smile and I know she will feel better. We must hurry. -Sophie will soon be ready for her act, and you must prepare your magic.” - -They walked across the floor, both sated—one by boredom, the other by -necessity. When they approached Roberta, she stood up, one hand touching -the pearls at her throat, the other holding her muff. - -“Drewena,” she said quietly, with slow sarcasm, “it would be a pleasure -to meet your friend. She is very pretty in yellow. Did Carrie make the -dress?” Roberta’s lip curled. Once more her hand moved convulsively in -her muff. - -Without a word Miriam stepped up close and running her fingers down -Roberta’s arm, slipped her own hand well inside the tiny fur. Roberta -shook her off; but Miriam, now looking at her friend as though intrigued, -said slowly, “Perhaps you’d like another cocktail, Roberta. It will warm -you. Your hands are like ice.” - -Drewena looked on, but finding the scene too difficult to interpret, -shook her head sadly, murmured something about the program and led Miriam -away. - -Roberta, still brooding, was left alone in her corner. - -Standing by the piano, Drewena clapped her hands and the crowd grew quiet. - -“First,” she said, “since Sophie is not ready, I’ll ask Daisy, who has -come in her perennial form of the ‘Prairie Flower’ to sing for us.” - -Docky sniffed and whispered to Beulah, “Look at her! She doesn’t even -have to make up for the part! My dear, do I _have_ to listen to that -miserable dentist do her wild flower act again? It’s just been repeated -and repeated till I could simply scream! Imagine, trying to carry on at -_her_ age when we _all_ know she’s well into the menopause!” - -Daisy, however, tripped across the floor, her black taffeta dress -flouncing around her wide hips. After bowing to the somewhat bored and -suffering crowd, she put her hands to her shoulders and bent her knees. -In a stringy voice she sang— - - “I’m a little Prairie Flower - Growing wilder every hour! - No one here to care about me— - I’m as wild as wild can be!” - -Then she put one hand on the top of her head, and the other on her hip. -Jigging up and down to the music of the piano, she began to rotate on -her toes. The frayed voice continued— - - “I’m a little patchwork quilt - All my edges trimmed in gilt! - No one here to cuddle with me— - I’m as cuddly as can be!” - -There was loud, determined clapping, and Daisy ran off the floor, her -face suffused with blushes. - -“Perfectly grand, dear,” said one of the guests. “So much sweeter than -the _first_ time you gave it.” - -“_That_ won’t last,” said Beulah, looking at Daisy who had returned to -the room and was holding someone’s hand, obviously searching the face of -her friend for signs of approval. “It won’t last—I’ve been all through -it.” - -In the alcove, six musicians wearing short red skirts, white blouses, -white silk stockings and red sandals, were holding their instruments in -readiness. They were camping among themselves, though the one with the -clarinet looked just a trifle uncomfortable. Drewena asked them to play -a slow drag and they began “Mood Indigo,” the harpsichordist tapping -her red sandal on the side of her chair, each musician looking oddly -like his instrument. Drewena favored a tempered arrangement of popular -music in the modern idiom. For a simplified expression of this type of -instrumentation she had chosen the curious grouping of harpsichord, -vibraphone, harp, bassoon, clarinet and drums. She felt that any brass, -even muted, would destroy the exotic, passionate tenor of the music -achieved by the combination of strings and reeds (the drums having been -modulated by casings) and affected also by the arranger, who had found -the predominant oriental theme from listening to Drewena herself at the -piano. - -Some of the dancers walked idly, in as slow a tempo as possible. Others, -however, flew around the floor in a febrile reaction to the sometimes -sweet, sometimes wild expression of the orchestra. Carrie’s popularity -was noticeable. She flew from partner to partner. But her dancing was a -little heavy, and her large, moist eyes followed Miriam. - -Drewena held on to Miriam tightly, preferring to be led. - -“Your arm is like a rock, Miriam,” she whispered. - -This winter idyll was drenched in an arbor of delicate flowers that -grew from the basketball scents of the dancers. A cloth seemed to cover -Miriam’s eyes; but as she opened them, it was Drewena’s white-tinted -hair that confused her. The soft waves and ringlets covered Miriam’s -arm and the paths that had intrigued her so long were now undivided. -Nevertheless, as she breathed of Drewena’s cheek, that which had been -unrevealed before came swiftly in an explicable panic. She stopped in the -middle of the floor. Her mouth was dry. - -“I’d better prepare for my act,” she said quite suddenly. - -Without a word Drewena broke from her, and Miriam followed her quick -steps through the archway. - -“How irresponsible you are to-night, my Miriam,” she breathed, a grave -smile darkening her eyes. Then she called Tai. - -The child ran into the powder room and bowed reverently before her. - -“You will obey my friend for a trick,” she said. “It will not take long.” -She placed her hand for a second on his shoulder before she left. - -“It will be fun, Tai,” said Miriam, noting the child’s frightened look. - -Tai bowed again. - -“I shall do as you bid, mistress,” he whispered, his piquant face quite -solemn. - -Just then a footman entered with a good hemp rope. Miriam rapidly -explained the routine of the act, asked the man if his shoulders were -strong, gave a simple instruction to Tai, finishing just as the orchestra -ceased. The second number was being announced as she returned to the -drawing room. - -Someone screamed very faintly and Docky looked at Beulah; for, radiant -with smiles and dressed in long white tights, Sophie posed in the -doorway, a wild-looking pigeon in her hand. She began to pivot slowly. - -Docky raised her scented handkerchief to her nose. - -“_Pee-yoo!_” she said softly. “Here comes the pigeon-woman! She’s gone -pervert on us!” - -“Yes,” agreed Beulah, and began to hum. “‘_We’re camping to-night on the -old campground._’” - -A person near them who was dressed in a hoopskirt made in the shape of -a bell, stood up, the bell chiming once, twice, before she adjusted her -bodice. - -“Your clapper rings indiscriminately,” said Beulah, in a mild tone. - -“It is rusty from lack of use, my sweet,” replied Angela, who was an -undertaker. - -“It is atrophied,” said Docky. “But let’s watch the dance.” - -Sophie, who had waited until all attention was centered upon her, now -leaped from the doorway, flinging out the pigeon which was tied to her -wrist by a string. Upon alighting, one of her thin legs bent under her, -then she began to dance. She pirouetted and waved her flabby hips while -the bird tried desperately to escape. Once it descended upon her head and -lifted the transformation. The guests had a fleeting glimpse of a pink, -bald dome. Occasionally Sophie’s joints cracked. The effect was macabre. - -“Mercy!” said Beulah. “If _my_ bones were in that condition, I’d have -brought my little can of lubricating oil. She positively drowns out the -orchestra!” - -“‘Little’ can, did you say?” timidly questioned Daisy, who had rejoined -the group. - -Beulah did not turn her head. Only the bulges on her neck seemed to -stiffen and bulge out further. - -But Sophie was now in difficulty. The pigeon had become terrified and was -jerking at the string. All pretense of dancing stopped and Sophie stood -there, feebly waving her arms. Pitying her, Drewena stepped to her side, -closed one hand gently around the panicky bird and slipped the noose from -its leg. Out in the dim corridor she opened a window, touched her cheek -to the bird’s soft, rumpled feathers and, with a sigh, tossed it into the -darkness. - -Miriam had returned to the powder room when Sophie came in, near to -hysteria, weeping. - -“Oh, heavens!” she cried, while the mascara streamed down her cheeks. -“It stooled on me!” And she wiped the top of her bare head with a -handkerchief. - -“That’s nothing—a seagull once did the same for me,” said Miriam. “You -can’t get it off that way. Why don’t you stick your head under the -shower?” - -“You’re insulting,” said Sophie, drying her eyes. - -Miriam left the room in disgust. - -Another number was on. Carrie, her fingers fan-shaped over her heart, was -singing “_Mother Macree_” in a soft voice, high and clear. The strange -tonal quality was like that of a contralto. - -Drewena was accompanying her. And along the rows of gossips there was now -complete silence. Miriam noticed that both Beulah and Docky were holding -handkerchiefs to their eyes, and when the last words—“God keep you and -bless you, Mother Macree” trailed off, Miriam watched a solid, tremulous -emotion sweep the crowd. Only Kate, openly defiant to any sentiment, -poured a drink down her throat and looked at the others with disdain. - -This time, as they danced, Miriam sneaked the footman in through the -back, and hoisted him to the long beam, one end of which lay in shadow. -Once more, she whispered instructions to her assistant, then went for -Tai. The music ceased and she could hear Drewena quieting the crowd. - -Then Miriam entered the room. She did not walk with the air of one -experienced in drag, but her stalking, feline movements seemed even more -proper. Several paces behind her came Tai, a rope over one tiny shoulder, -his eyes lowered. He still wore the golden tunic and it gleamed against -his little body as he held out the rope to Miriam. She took it, coiling -it sailor-fashion on the floor, then hurled one end to the ceiling where -it held, in a rim of shadow. Immediately Tai grabbed it and climbed -upward to the beam, apparently on a rope which was in no way supported. -Only the magician could see the tensed form of the footman holding the -slight weight of the child. Then Tai disappeared. Miriam lifted her arms -and the rope fell in waves over her shoulders. She dropped it, turned to -the crowd and solemnly picked up her train. Tai, smiling and bowing, ran -forth from its folds, and held out his arms to Drewena. - -The crowd was charmed; but Drewena, furious, caught up the child and -hurrying with him through the corridor, took him into his own room and -laid him upon his own bed. - -For a moment her hot cheek rested against the child who petted her, -saying nothing. Then she swept into the powder room where she knew she -would find Miriam. Still furious, she faced her friend. - -“Miriam,” she cried, “that was a coarse trick.” Her eyes were narrowed -and a drop of blood was welling out of the corner of her lip where she -had bitten herself. “What made you do it?” - -Miriam inhaled the smoke of her cigarette. - -“We don’t think alike, Drewena,” she said reflectively at last. “There -was nothing coarse in the act. It is a good trick.” - -“Under your skirts, Miriam!” said Drewena, her deep blue eyes watching -her friend intensely. - -Miriam shrugged. - -“You and I have a different attitude toward such things, I fear. I hope -the child feels the way I do about it. He is quite innocent—as apparently -am I.” Then for an instant Miriam’s eyes became colder than Drewena’s. -“Of course, I cannot help, nor can I control your interpretations.” A -dark, ugly vein showed vertically now in the center of Miriam’s forehead. -Drewena’s white velvet gown seemed to turn blood-red before her. - -Even in her own anger, Drewena was amazed. Surely these could not be the -features of her friend! She watched Miriam as she turned and walked -to the ottoman where she sat down, breathing heavily. A tremor passed -through her body and she sat, looking straight ahead. Fascinated, Drewena -saw the vein in Miriam’s forehead diminish at last and her features -become natural again. A little frightened, she went over and put her hand -on the shoulder of her friend. - -“It’s just that I love both of you so much, Miriam,” she said. “I was -jealous of you both. Please, forgive me.” Her hand was trembling. “And -now,” she added, trying to compose herself, “I must announce Kate’s -dance. Won’t you come out?—she dances divinely.” - -“Later, Drewena,” Miriam said in a despondent voice. And when Drewena -had gone, still looking disturbed, Miriam lay down on her back on the -couch and stared at the ceiling with both eyes open wide. Her thoughts -were jumbled and confused in this strange atmosphere. She had felt -singular reactions. Desires that were new to her had come upon her -without warning. Were her concepts changing? Or had they lain dormant, -awaiting only the right moment to make her aware of another facet in her -individuality?... And did this constitute a shame to God? Should the -mind reject what the spirit had planted?... Was this not a possibility -for every man, as well as the necessity for the cultivated group -outside?... It was obscure to Miriam, lying there. Her mind was tired -from these perplexing questions. Such problems as these charged without -apparent reason. She stood up, held the sides of her head which now -ached violently. Slowly she went to the doorway in time to hear Drewena -announce Kate’s dance. - -The crowd applauded vigorously and Miriam could feel again the mass -excitement. - -“As usual,” continued Drewena, “Kate has adapted a native dance-ritual -to her own choreography. To-night she will interpret the fire dance of a -tribe of Andean people.” - -Drewena stepped back as Patsy came from the corridor with a smoldering, -perfumed brazier which she placed upon the floor, now cleared for a space -in the center. The music began, the muted drums became more prominent, -and Kate walked from the shadows of the alcove to the brazier, standing -quietly beside it, her eyes lifted upward, watching the smoke, her hands -palm outward before her. There was a leather strap around her forehead -and a leather wristlet above the left hand. On her upper arm was a metal -band which had the dull gleam of copper. - -The high knee movement as she circled the brazier showed the control and -discipline of her deeply tanned legs, and the supple flexibility of a -professional dancer. Her bare feet slapped stiffly against the wooden -floor as she continued to circle the smoke which was now rising like a -slender blue pillar. As she went round the coals, her body rotated while -circling, so that at times she faced the low flames and at others had -her back to them, her body always arched, her circled head often coming -close to the flickering brazier. A soft, faun-colored wrap that looked -like chamois swung from Kate’s waist; but on one side it had been cut in -from the hips where the fine webbing of her dark jockstrap covered her. - -Among the excited watchers, none was more affected than Beulah. She kept -wiping her mouth and whispering, “My God!” to Docky. Docky, however, for -once, was too fascinated to reply. - -Intoxicated by the wild music and by the incense which now pervaded the -room, even more by the dance itself, Kate continued her steps with more -abandon, her copper body whirling with such rapidity that she seemed to -be weaving amid the smoke, making it catch her enthusiasm as it leaned -toward her at every angle until it spiraled upward as though part of -the dance. A bolo knife with a polished bone handle rested against the -nearby wall and Kate leaped toward it, picked it up swiftly and fastened -the looped thong around her wrist. Then as the song of the Firebird[2] -grew wilder, she swung the heavy, shining blade as though cutting her way -through vines and wet, tall grass, until the knife sang in the air and -Kate’s slim, powerful body weaved from side to side in her savage desire -to get once more to the flames. Her teeth were drawn back as though -fighting with intangible yet formidable spirits, and her handsome face -was set in a perfect mask of determination to get to her own beckoning -god—the crimson soul of the flame—life-giving and protecting. At last she -reached the genie of the fire-bowl, her face, arms and belly streaming -with sweat, the bolo knife held rigidly over her head and her left hand -supporting the sinews of the wrist which held it. - -This time, instead of circling the brazier, she leaped over it, held -herself suspended one fraction of a second before she dropped lightly -on the other side, wheeled instantly and repeated the floating movement -until the blur of her body became one with the smoke. Suddenly, to the -horror of the guests, there was a soft whisper, like fire through damp -reeds, and the odor of burning hair mixed with the scent of the pitch. As -the crowd held its breath sharply, Kate let out a fierce, sensuous shout -of triumph, and whirled in eccentric half-turns into the shadows of the -alcove.... - -There was no applause. The crowd was stunned by this amazing, painful -exhibition into deep silence. Docky abstractedly removed and wiped her -glass eye again, and Beulah dabbed futilely at her aging face. But their -attention was now quickly drawn to the corner where Roberta had been -sitting. She was standing in such an imperious manner that everyone -turned toward her in astonishment. The broken rays from a chandelier -nearby revealed her beautiful, tragic face as she said with the elegance -of contempt, “And now—let _me_ speak!” Her resonate voice filled the deep -silence, and she crossed the floor to a place where she could face the -crowd more fully. - -Rather nervously, Drewena hurried to her and whispered something; but -Roberta’s desperate expression stopped her from speaking further and she -drew back, more than ever perplexed. At this, Miriam, watching the blue -fox muff attentively, walked quietly to Roberta until her eyes said, -“Stop!” which Miriam did, a few paces away. - -Then, in level voice and without gesture, never taking her eyes from -Miriam’s face, Roberta said— - - There on the sheets, my lad, - With small gold arms and hair tossed back - Most carelessly, - She bears the quality we lack. - And older, perhaps weary, I’m some sad. - - Here in my arms, my lad, - With strong gold wrists and hair tossed back - In liberty, - You bear the quality I lack. - And older, perhaps weary, I’m some sad. - - But in my glass, sweet lad, - I see thy dreams, thy lady’s, - And thy profligacy. - And _know_ the quality you lack.... - Yet still I’m older, perhaps weary, and some sad. - -There was a buzz of disapproval as Roberta finished. “Well,” said Beulah, -“we may have _lived_ in our time, but we _never_ carried on like _that_! -In those pastel days,” and she tapped Docky’s arm with her fan, parting -her lips with a snap, “we _did_ carry on a bit—but this is _too_ much! I -feel like entering the philanthropies. They’re so much quieter.” - -“Yes, yes,” said Docky, “I tried it once. But it’s too expensive, Beulah. -And don’t expect, dear, too much of your personality. We’re getting -wrinkles. Soon the lovelies won’t _look_ at us for less than a dollar! -How your quarter has worked as long as it has, is beyond me!” - -Roberta had returned to the solitude of her corner when there was a -terrified screech from Patsy, and Rio, completely drunken, in servant’s -skirts held high above his knees, lurched into the drawing room. He -stood there just inside the doorway, swaying and looking around at the -gathering. - -“Whores!” he shouted stridently, raising one heavy brown arm in his -anger. “You lousy, campy sons-of-bitches!” He forced his risqué Robin -Hood hat down to his ears, his shoulders nearly popping out of his dress, -and his great legs encased in red football stockings which were rolled -just beneath his hairy knees. Then he saw Miriam looking at him without -amusement as she leaned against the piano. Rio walked slowly to her, his -arms hanging like lead. As he approached, Miriam did not stir and there -was a contemptuous look upon her face. Rio moved his lips in an obscene -gesture and pretended to whimper. - -“Could a old ’ooman show ’ee the sights o’ Cooney Island? I’ll do no -traffic with ’ee.” - -Miriam smiled, for in his hatred Rio had mimicked his character with -perfection. Even the crowd began to think it was a camp when suddenly, -without warning, Rio struck Miriam who fell slowly to the floor. Drewena -noticed that she looked like Tai, the way she was curled. With a low -scream, Drewena ran swiftly from the room while Rio looked on with -contempt. But his expression changed as he saw his friend still lying -open-mouthed, a little absent, upon the floor, one slippered foot thrust -out from the folds of the yellow dress. - -Drewena now returned silently. She was carrying a long, gilded whip. She -held it firmly in her delicate hands, the barbs away from her, ready to -be snapped. As Rio bent over his friend, he started to kneel. But before -his knee was completely bent, Drewena brought the thorned end of the gold -scourge straight down across his shoulders, the faint swish modified by -Rio’s cry of pain and surprise; for as the flesh was ripped from his -back there was the sound of crushed bubbles. In his agony, he rushed at -the white-gowned hostess, but Drewena, as though in a fantastic ballet, -dodged him and pivoted so swiftly that when Rio passed, the wrench and -throb of his sickening pain as he was struck again, brought forth a groan -from everyone in the room. Drewena stood poised for the next thrust, and -her expression brought Rio on once more, his great hands searching for -her through his agony. Again she avoided him and turned to lay the hooked -rods into his lacerated flesh. Rio, in all his bravery could stand no -more and fell upon his face, his arms reaching out like claws. Cool and -mindful of her action, Drewena struck him again until the blood formed in -small pools by his side. - -Roberta still stood silently in the shadow of her corner. Docky, who -had been watching her, had seen with her one alert, keen eye, a single -movement and a flash of steel as Roberta withdrew her hand from her muff, -then returned it stoically when Rio fell. - -This time, as Drewena lifted her arm, Miriam sat up. There was no -movement, no shudder from the prone figure on the floor. - -“Wait, Drew!” called Miriam. “Leave the man alone!” - -Drewena looked at her incredulously. - -“This beast knocked you down,” she said, “and without reason.” - -She turned again to strike, but Miriam arose unsteadily and held -Drewena’s arm. - -Drewena dropped the whip. - -“Do you, then, consider _this_ more important?” she asked nodding -toward Rio who was still lying quietly, his blouse in shreds upon his -blood-soaked back. - -“He is my friend,” said Miriam. “We are going home.” - -“Our rendezvous?” breathed Drewena. - -“Will wait,” said Miriam. - -Then, kneeling down by the stricken man whose face showed no expression -as she turned it toward her, Miriam repeated, “It’s Martin, Rio, ... -Martin ... we are going home.” Half lifting, half imploring, Martin got -Rio to his feet, and as the man leaned heavily against him, they crossed -the floor amid the horrified silence of the crowd. - -Then “Boor!” ... “Common!” ... “Stiff!” ... came to Martin’s ears as he -bore the weight of his friend onward to the doorway. At last, he could -stand no more of it. - -“You!” he cried, turning. “You! Leave us alone!—my friend and me!” - -In the hall, Martin looked at Rio’s thrashed back. - -“We’d better go to my room,” he said. “Call a cab for us, Patsy.” And he -threw Deane’s coat over Rio.... As they left, they could hear the sound -of music and dancing. - -Carrie had gone into hysterics. Her high heel had caught in her train and -ripped it open. She was rushing to the powder room when Drewena saw her. -The hostess followed her guest through the groups of dancers and found -Carrie on the ottoman, crying brokenly. Drewena closed and locked the -door. Her lips were bitter—to have revealed herself and lost her caste -over a graceless Polynesian was unbearable! She went through a hidden -paneled doorway into Tai’s room and lightly kissed his fingers, listening -to the sweet sound of his even breathing. Then opening the door into the -corridor, she called the footman who brought Patsy to her at once. - -“We are leaving, Patsy,” she said. “Arrange for an early departure. We -will go to Paris. Cable Jacques to meet us.” - -Patsy bowed. - -“May I say ‘thank God,’ Madame? I speak reverently.” - -Drewena laughed, and for a moment looked into Patsy’s faithful eyes. - -“Arrange things quickly,” she repeated as the attendant left. - -Again Drewena tiptoed past the sleeping, tired baby and entered the -powder room, closing the panel behind her and ignoring the pounding on -the door. - -Carrie still cried, her tears dampening the golden pillows of the couch. - -“Miriam left without asking me to dance,” she kept on sobbing. - -Drewena picked her up bodily and making a cradle out of her own -slender arms, held the unhappy girl. Singing a soft, melodic lullaby, -she rocked Carrie, thinking, “It is time once more, for me to go. -Ah, Martin!—indiscriminate man!—you see beauty only through your -prostitution.... How I envy you!... How I ...” Drewena’s thick tears -clung to her lashes and did not fall on Carrie who, now rocked asleep, -held tightly to Drewena’s comforting breast. - - - - -_CHAPTER XVII_ - - -On the low coffee table in front of Deane was a bowl of yellow roses. She -had broken off one of the blossoms and was slowly, abstractedly pulling -it to pieces. Listlessly she allowed the golden petals to fall to the -floor. - -“Why didn’t you tell me of Drew’s love letter earlier, Martin?” she asked. - -“It was an invitation,” he answered. “I shouldn’t have shown it at all.” - -Deane lit a cigarette nervously. - -“But what did you do?—I mean—oh!” she cried out, hiding her face in her -hands. - -Martin shook his head but did not speak. - -“And now,” continued Deane, “you insist on meeting him in the Bowery.” - -“Yes,” Martin nodded. - -“But it isn’t like Drew to go to such a terrible place. Why did you agree -to such a rendezvous?” - -“I don’t know, except that he sounded sincere and almost desperate over -the phone.” - -“How _did_ he sound?” asked Deane. “Remember, I know him.” - -“Cool on the surface, but determined,” answered Martin, “and worried—no, -not worried; just rather desperate.” - -“You _can’t_ go!” cried Deane. “I’ve been driven through the place at -night. It’s terrifying; a street of yellow lanterns, and figures huddled -in shadow like fallen bric-a-brac.” - -“I must go,” said Martin. - -“Won’t you stay, for me?” - -Martin pressed his hand against his temple. - -“Yes, Deane,” he answered at last. - -“Thank God!” she said. “There is something cruel in the air to-night.” -Then, relieved, she asked, “What happened to Rio?” - -Martin regarded her so long and steadily that she flushed, looking a -little frightened. At last he answered, “The driver helped me get him -into the cab and he slept all the way to my place. When I got him on the -bed with his shirt off, he awoke in great pain and I smelt a curious odor -that came from his back. I’m sure the thorns of the whip held some kind -of drug. Rio said they felt like fishhooks and that he was dizzy a moment -before he fell on the floor. It’s odd the way Drew is able to handle him. -They fought like two dancers.” - -Deane’s face was white and she spoke quietly, as though faint. - -“I believe you enjoyed it. How can you be so impersonal?” - -Martin put his chin in his hands. How could two people, close in -passion, united in mind, lapse into these subtle quarrels? There was no -basis. The quarrel was an excuse for something deeper. - -Analyzing himself, Martin tried to find the fault within him. Coldly, -impersonally, he reviewed the scene, not sparing himself in any way. It -was impossible. Deane had subtly forced the argument. Deeply, actually, -she had been the aggressor. Martin accepted this with no pleasure. Deane -would not intentionally wound him. _Not intentionally._ The phrase -gathered meaning. Unconsciously she had created the picture. Why? -Nothing on the surface. Nothing of which she was conscious. Rather, some -deep-seated demand for pain. Pain for herself and for him. A hunger to -wound and be wounded. Martin shook his head helplessly. From his chair he -could see Deane sitting quietly serene, apparently indifferent. No. It -was a simulated indifference. A strange play with no tenable motive. She -must be as aware of the chasm between them as he. Out of this isolation -she was drawing something. Something that fed her. It was inexplicable -to Martin, for Deane was not a tyrant. She was, however, feminine. And -now, the roots of all womanhood shone grimly through. Martin wondered, -hesitated, and spoke. - -“Deane, are you well? I mean,” he continued, “is it the time of the moon, -you know?” - -Deane was casual. - -“Yes, Martin.” Her voice was tolerant. - -“Well, then,” he said, “I should have been more considerate.” - -“Don’t be impossible,” Deane exclaimed. “My condition has nothing at all -to do with our discussion.” - -“I’m inclined to believe, Deane, that it has everything to do with it.” - -“That is ridiculous,” she answered, flushing. “It isn’t nice.” - -Martin looked at her closely. Deane’s eyes were implacable. Cold, -glassed-in, the poisonous shell moved around her. He could not reach -her. He thought quickly, fantastically, in his unhappiness. The period. -The time of the moon. The time eggs swell and burst into a live stream. -In his vision he watched a flood of red, elliptical objects swing in a -gigantic arch from heaven to earth. Rolling and whispering through the -dark air, they poured in a fast tide past his aching eyes. Redolent of -life, acrid with blood, they cried from the great sky-womb into the -whirling land. Symbolic of woman’s supremacy, the scarlet bank lightened, -faded and died, that it might live again. - -“Deane!” cried Martin. “I have seen the secret.” - -“What secret, Martin?” - -“The secret that you have a secret. That you have a secret that I will -never know. That no man will ever know. It is your earth-quality, your -heritage as a woman. A glory and a pride, and I have confused it.” - -Deane turned her dark, lovely eyes toward him. - -“What do you mean?” she asked, and a tiny nerve close to her mouth -quivered. - -Martin laughed. He had the key. He had turned the key and the glass had -broken. Gone was the poisonous mist and doubt from Deane’s eyes. - -“I mean that there is a completeness in woman that man will never have,” -he said, with quiet conviction. “A secret that man will never fully -understand. A secret that women are not aware of—consciously. A pact of -woman in the woman that is not revealed until the life-flow moves from -their bodies. A pact so complete, so magnificent, that man takes on his -true perspective—an interloper.” - -Deane turned and hugged him to her. Her hair fell over his -shoulder—burned him. - -“You’re crazy,” she said. But there was warmth in her voice, and love, -and some belief. - -“I’m not crazy,” said Martin, kissing her. He held her proudly, and -looked at her and kissed her again. He was arrogant of his weakness and -proud of her strength. He was that way, whether he was wrong, or right. -And there was the man, and there was the woman. - - * * * * * - -It was quite dark and raining when Martin left Deane’s. The wind, cold -and full of smoke, sifted into his nostrils. Halfway down the block he -pressed against the wall, partly out of the storm, and lit a cigarette. -The glare of the match showed his calm features. Shielding his cigarette -from the downpour with his hand, he walked slowly toward the Bowery. - -As he turned into Third Avenue he became, once more, aware of a madman’s -world. Little dwarfs with sour, twisted faces uplifted in the rain -implored with mocking smiles a cigarette; and when he gave it he could -feel the jeers carried after him by the wind. Soon he went into Bowery -Lane and a blind man stumbled into him. - -“You’re not real,” said Martin. “Don’t ever believe that you’re real.” - -“What?” cried the man, tapping the street with his stick. “You -scoundrel,” he went on, “let me go! I’ll call the damned police, curse -them!” And he walked on swiftly, tapping his cane through the mist. - -Martin continued along the Bowery until he saw a saloon. He crossed the -street and went inside wondering if he had time for a drink. Looking at -his watch he saw that he was far too early for his appointment with Drew. - -“Step up, Mac,” called out a fat, red-faced gentleman at the bar. “Name -it, and I’ll buy it.” - -“Thanks,” said Martin. “I’ll have a Bass Ale.” - -“To my little lady I left in the west!” said the florid man, a few tears -trickling down the side of his pudgy nose. “Ain’t that right, Allie?” he -continued, turning to a slab-headed man next to him. - -“Yeah,” replied Allie, looking Martin over. - -The three men lifted their glasses. Allie belched and took a package of -baking soda from his pocket. He dumped a teaspoonful into the remainder -of his beer and stirred it. Swallowing this concoction with some effort, -he turned to Martin. - -“It takes a goddam acid out,” he said earnestly. “It don’t give a gas -like a plain goddam beer—” he stopped to belch again. - -Martin nodded in agreement. - -“I must be going now,” he said, “but before I do, kindly have a drink on -me.” - -Allie insisted on a third which Martin thanked him for, but put down -untouched after seeing the fellow cleverly add an astonishing portion of -“mickey” to it. - -The men were sullen as he said goodnight, and a little way down the -street Martin knew he was being followed by them. He ducked around a -corner and into a doorway for a moment, but they were even closer behind -him as he started on. Ahead of him four men were huddled on a stoop -out of the rain, the light from a yellow lamp streaking their greasy -features. Martin thought momentarily of Deane’s weird description, then -looking back and seeing Allie and his friend closing in upon him, he went -directly to the little group on the doorstep and addressed them earnestly. - -“It’s cold,” he said. “A smoke for the soul’s sake,” he continued, -handing some cigarettes around, one at a time, to the greedy, shaking -fingers. One cigarette was now left in the case, and one man was left -out. “I just came down from Heaven, sir,” Martin said to the man quite -solemnly. “They told me that worldly goods were without blessing unless -freely given.” He handed the cigarette to the man, who backed slightly -away, but who accepted it nevertheless. All the men lit up and formed a -thinly protective group against Martin, who heard one of them whisper, -“The kid’s cracked. Hope he ain’t got no ‘shiv.’ Religion guys go fast -wit’ a knife.” - -Another, a giant in a white shirt and dark coat said, “Don’t squawk. -Lookit a kid’s face in a lamp. God!—a smoke is sweet! Lookit a kid.” They -all studied Martin whose uplifted face and exalted eyes seemed far away -from them. They talked on quietly among themselves as the rain streaked -down Martin’s cheeks unnoticed. - -By this time Allie and his companion had reached the little group. - -“Hello, Pal,” said Allie, addressing Martin. - -Martin did not answer, but turned to his new friends. - -“These men are evil,” he said in a deep, resonant tone. “The very lips of -the Devil are among us!” Martin lifted his voice into an hysterical pitch -as he noticed with curiosity the strange effect of his words upon the men -about him. - -The giant with the coat carefully hung the dripping garment on a railing, -and the dirty shirt and muscular reach of his arms showed in the yellow, -muckish light. - -“Amen!” he cried, and advanced slowly toward Allie. - -“Amen, amen!” echoed through the group behind him. The little fat man -ran crying into the heavy rain; but it was with singular detachment that -Martin watched the giant he had converted, strike tirelessly the broken -form of Allie until the body was dumped, face down, in the swirling -length of gutter. - -Martin strode to the hard-breathing giant, placed his hand on the -fellow’s damp shoulder and said softly, “It was a message! It has been -answered.” And he went silently into the rain again. - -A square away he paused and looked at a large clock. Once more he saw -that in his impatience he was ahead of time. The cold rain had now -penetrated the shoulders of his coat and Martin felt the steam rising -from his hot body. What did Drew want in this undesirable section? -Accustomed as Martin was to certain ways of life, he could not help -but feel the disease of this unnatural quarter. He stood on the corner -of Bowery and Pell—the Chinese street—a mimeographed edition of its -former tong retreat and underground silence. It was true, a small group -of thin-lipped, older men with their discreet smoke-houses and their -hatchet-men survived. But the list was growing smaller so swiftly that -the aroma of opium now had a death-like stench. The neon lights of New -America had quickly dispelled the shadows and the soft lanterns of -oriental intrigue. Martin looked across the street toward the little -theater on the corner. It was half hidden by rain, but he could faintly -see the line of trade in front of it. As the fog deepened, sailing lower -under Brooklyn Bridge, Martin could hear the tangled music of a victrola -somewhere nearby. The singsong lady of Shanghai was mute behind the -stalls. But her Tiao-wu chords brought about by twangy, cut-off strings -and yellow pipes as high as reeds can go, caused him to reflect upon the -ancient wailing destined to wail forever.... - -Suddenly he felt his arm seized and the hard mouth of a gun pressed into -his back. - -“Don’t make a mistake,” said a harsh, low voice. - -Martin dropped swiftly on his hands and brought his heels upward, barely -missing the other’s chin. The fellow chuckled. - -“Still good with your feet, eh, Martin,” he said. “Damn your French foot! -It nearly got me!” - -Martin squatted by the gutter as he rinsed his stinging hands in the pure -flow of rainwater. Getting up, he rubbed his sore shoulders. - -“You’ve gone to hell, Duke,” he said. “You weren’t this bad when I left -Panama. You should have stuck to reefers. What is it now?” - -“The Duke” drew his fingers slowly under his nose, then brought up his -coat collar to hide his face, pretending to shake. - -Martin smiled, shook hands with his friend whose uproarious laughter -followed this act, and pulled him along to a tea-shop on Pell Street. -Inside, he ordered coffee while the Duke took Chow Mein with tea. - -Martin leaned on the table. - -“It’s good to see you,” he said. “Heroin can’t hurt you, apparently.” - -“Yes, it can,” said the Duke, nervously pressing a small blue butterfly -which was tattooed on his wrist. “Sometimes it hits me like dynamite, and -I’ll go on a mad rob for a dollar. But it’s worse when I get cop-fever. -Then I go back to my room—Christ!” he said, wiping his face. “Sometimes -I crawl back of the dresser. Say—maybe I get peddled the wrong junk?” He -looked at Martin hopefully. - -“No,” said Martin, “the stuff is all right. You know your contact.” But -he was beginning to see certain signs in The Duke’s eyes even now. “Get -the tea down,” he continued, “and we’ll move out. Where’s your room?” - -With a grotesque, frightening look, the Duke sat up. - -“I’m cut short,” he said, the sweat breaking out on his face. “God, -Mart!—get me back to my room! Jesus!—it’s the snow!... Cut off the cold -wind, Mart!—it’s down on my head!” The Duke’s white face seemed blue in -the yellow light. “God, Mart!... Mate!—ah!” he cried, the perspiration -running from his forehead in streams. - -Martin snapped his fingers at the Chinese waiter who was watching The -Duke with placid, averted eyes, took a bill from his pocket and laid it -on the table. - -“Quickly—where does my friend live?” he asked. - -“I do not know, sir,” the waiter smiled. - -Martin added another bill to his account. - -“Where might he live?” he asked soberly, adding, “when the man is sick, -we are all brothers.” - -“I would not live against that proverb,” said the waiter. “The hotel is -directly across the street—there—” The Chinaman pointed to a large bulb, -glowing, but marked with age. “His room may be ascertained at the desk,” -he added, bowing low. - -“Thanks,” said Martin, as The Duke got to his feet, the horrified turmoil -within pressing out through his eyes. He clung to the arm of his friend, -but once inside the hotel, tried to dash to the stairs. He was stopped, -however, by a quiet little gray-headed Chinese clerk. - -“Let me get him up,” Martin said to the man. “I’ll see about his rent -later.” - -“We do not want Mr. Duke,” said the clerk mildly. He was wearing -octagonal glasses which were useless but for their dignity. - -“Then I must ask you for his room for only a few minutes,” continued -Martin. - -“A woman waits for him also,” said the Chinaman. - -Martin became cold, as though he were facing a crisis of his own. - -“Please show me his room,” he insisted, and perhaps it was his -unequivocal stare that made the Chinese submit graciously to his demand. - -The cranky elevator stopped and Martin helped The Duke into the hall. - -As they approached his room a slim woman—a beautiful Eurasian, so Martin -judged by the hall’s dim light, stepped from the door and ran at him. - -“Fag!” she cried, as she tried to strike his face. - -Martin wrapped her long hair around his wrist, and holding his friend and -the woman, entered the room. - -The Duke ran to the window, looking out. - -“I’ll jump!” he said. “This rat-hole’s too crowded. It’ll call the -police.” He stood, bending down to the sill. - -“Go ahead,” said Martin, watching him closely, his hand still wrapped in -the beautiful long blue hair of the squirming girl. - -“No, I’ll hide from them,” cried the Duke, and he began to crawl under -the carpet. - -The Eurasian, slant-eyed, watched him. Then quickly she turned to Martin. - -“Babee!” she said, in a Dutch accent, her yellow eyes lifted to his. -“Come with me. Let my hair go.” - -Martin saw that The Duke, now flat under the carpet was quiet, and he -loosened his own wrist from the woman’s soft hair. - -“What is your name?” he asked. - -“It is Siedred!” - -“A mongrel boy,” he said, his teeth closing and unclosing. “Where do you -wish me to go?” - -“To my room.” - -“In this hall?” - -“It is so.” - - * * * * * - -Martin looked once more at the shaking body under the carpet and took the -girl by the waist. - -“Come,” he said. - -The Eurasian led him from the room, across the hall and to another door -which she unlocked silently. Once inside, she turned the lock again and -laid the key upon a table. - -Breathing without restraint, she slipped her blouse over her head and -snapped the buttons from her skirt. As she looked at Martin, her breast -filled, then fell, then rose again until Martin, impatient, lifted her -and tossed her on the bed, laughing. - -“I love you,” cried the native girl as she felt his pointed tongue. - -“You are so hot,” replied Martin. “This is not love.” - -“It is, it is!” the woman insisted. “Touch me again!” - -“Siedred,” said Martin. - -“What?” - -“Siedred.” He pulled the long cord of the lamp which hung above them. -There was a frantic sound of broken clothes, of sighs too distressing, of -a single, smothered scream. - -“Oh, oh!” Siedred cried. - -And out in the corridor, besieged by following tears and moans, Martin -crept down the stairs into the street. Unquestioning, he waited before -the tiny theater for Drew’s arrival. - -As Martin watched, a limousine drew up before the theater and stopped. -Drew, his friend, stepped out. He made no sign, but pulled down his hat -and turned up the collar of his coat, bringing it under his chin. Then -he observed the trade, beckoning at last to a roughly dressed youngster -with golden skin and frightened eyes. As he helped the lad into his car, -he closed the door upon him, and turning to Martin who stood so quietly -in the rain, Drew removed his hat, keeping it off until the water spilled -over his blond, pinned hair. His lips spelled “Night.” He bowed slightly -and entered the car, closing the door as Martin started toward him. As -the limousine passed, Martin could see his mocking, tired face. - - - - -_CHAPTER XVIII_ - - -In his room Martin laid his head upon his desk. He wondered about -Roberts, his magnificence at the drag, the mad poem intended for himself. -Confused by these thoughts, he fell asleep. He dreamed that he was in the -bow of a shining canoe, spinning down a great white length of rapids. -In the stern of the boat two men were fighting. Rio, and the giant with -the white, rain-soaked shirt were striking each other fiercely. Above -them hovered the spirit of Freud, smiling at both of them and holding -a battered text in one hand and a setscrew in the other which were -apparently to be awarded to the victor. Roberts, however, in the form -of mist, obstructed the blows of the fighters until the two gladiators -became entangled and suddenly dissolved. The spirit of Freud withdrew -hastily, while the adviser, with a faint smile at Martin, sat down in the -boat as it rotated toward destruction. - -Martin awakened from the dream with a somber expression. Then he shook -his head and laughed. - -“What a symbol!” he exclaimed to himself. - -The deep whistles of a ship ready to sail seemed to agitate him and he -lowered his head upon the desk again. He thought of Paris, where Drew was -going, of Tai with him, and of Deane seeing him off. Once more Martin -fell asleep, this time in a world uninhabited by dreams. - - * * * * * - -This was true for the most part, for Tai was playing in Drew’s suite, -while Pat attended him as though he were a little saint. - -In the great lounge of the liner Drew was talking seriously with Deane. - -“I can’t understand Martin,” he said. “And I must confess that it is -impossible for me to live within his orbit.” - -“You dislike him so?” Deane raised her dark eyes. - -Drew shook his head. - -“I can’t connect that term with him,” he answered. “I loved him very -deeply at one time. Now, I hate him, or rather, am frightfully jealous of -him.” - -“Of his sins?” asked Deane. - -“No,” replied Drew irritably. “He has no sins. He has none because -he does not believe the things he does are wrong.” Drew touched a -handkerchief to his head. “Martin,” he continued, “could destroy the -world and it would not be sinful. He is selfish, but because he knows it, -there is no feeling of blame. He’s like a ghost, and all of the people -around him are like ghosts. Even I came to feel like one. There is no -reality about him. Yes,” Drew sighed, “he is the most physical creature -in the world, and the most untouchable. Oh—I know what you’re thinking, -Deane! And I know I’m just putting on.” Suddenly Drew stopped and lit a -cigarette for Deane and one for himself. - -“I like him the way he is,” said Deane. “I like his unreality. And he -isn’t the way you think he is.” - -“Oh, _no_,” said Drew, arching his eyebrows. “Oh, dear no!” - -“Just the same,” went on Deane quietly, “although I’ve seen him pretend -to have the quality you say he has, I’m a woman, and I would know. I -would rebel.” She tapped out her cigarette. “Surely, Drew, you can see -that he speculates about himself in order to enjoy his own pursuits.” - -“That may be so,” agreed Drew, somewhat sardonically. “But I have -something of more immediate importance, Deane. Roberts is not well. I -don’t know what the trouble is, but he has changed terribly in the past -few months. His reaction to Martin is instantaneous and violent. This may -affect you. Please see as little as you can of him.” - -“I know,” said Deane with a charming, puzzled frown. “I’ve felt it too, -and sometimes it frightens me.” - -“Please come to Paris,” suggested Drew impulsively, leaning forward and -taking both her hands in his. - -“Sweet Drew,” whispered Deane, “how good you are! But I love Martin and I -need to be with him, I want to go right away to him. Now. Even now,” She -stood up and held Drew’s arm as they strolled to the promenade. - -“Let’s say good-by right here,” she said, her full, red lips trembling. -“I’m about to cry.” - -“It isn’t good-by at all, dearest,” said Drew, smiling gravely. “You know -that in spite of anything, we’ll always be together. Go to Martin now, -but remember that _we_ have the phone, the cable, the secret bond and -love in understanding.” He kissed her on both cheeks and as Deane turned, -she saw that his eyes were misty. - -After she had gone, Drew went into Tai’s little room. The ship was -slipping out of the pier and the child clapped his hands at the movement. -Drew lay down on the couch and laid his arms over his eyes. This!—to -happen for the second time in his life! It was too severe. There could -not be a third. Little Tai approached softly and kissed the tears away. -It was all he knew, and suddenly Drew smiled. - -Before he went on the promenade he looked out through the darkness and -saw the black, rolling water. He gazed at himself in the mirror and drew -a warm scarf under his dark overcoat. Then he pulled his dark hat over -his forehead, looked steadily at himself once more and went on deck. - -He hesitated for a moment by a large ventilator as he saw a young man -leaning on the rail, studying the ocean. The boy’s profile was quaint in -the dim overhead lights. Drew pulled his own hat lower, turned up the -collar of his coat and approached the stranger with unhurried, gentle -steps. - - - - -_CHAPTER XIX_ - - -The concert hall quieted. Conversation hushed. - -The White Peacock,[3] sorrowful and majestic, appeared in the faint -light. Winding through deep white reeds, brushing through ghostly -ferns, he approached. Wading the moon-puddles, breaking the mist with -silver feathers, he looked at Deane. Holding his white throat into the -stars, moving the fallen petals, he sang to her—sang a clear, demanding -song of his remote, pale island. Deane shivered under the soft notes, -loosening her gown. The White Peacock, his snowy tail drifting over the -moon-flowers, lifted his scarlet eyes—lifted his eyes through clouds and -placed each strong tone against her.... The music changed tempo. The -white bird screamed shrilly, his bright whistle falling through glissandi -of sound. The exquisite melody rose into the wind, hesitated, and dropped -murmuring into the white sea.... The White Peacock faded in the fluid -light, became distant—Deane, following with her arms the receding shadow. - -The music died. People moved in their chairs and the subdued whispers -grew into applause. The mood was broken and Deane touched her eyes. She -put on a coat of soft gray fur, adjusted her little tight-fitting blue -toque and carelessly pinned back on her collar a small bunch of violets -which had fallen to her lap during the concert. As she was rising someone -addressed her. - -“Then you, too, are fond of modern music?” - -Surprised, Deane looked up. Roberts stood before her. - -“It was beautiful,” she answered. “Beautiful, and intimate.” - -Roberts smiled in appreciation, acutely aware of the faint and lovely -perfume of her violets. - -“Did you come alone, Deane?” he asked. - -“Yes.” - -“Then,” said the adviser, his voice curiously naive and youthful, “let me -drive you home. I have my car.” - -She stepped into the aisle by his side and as they walked out together -the distinguished grace of his movements and the coloring in his cheeks, -still flushed by the spell of the music, made Deane conscious of the -beauty of a sex that shocked her heart but held her mind; and in this -acceptance every light in her hair and eyes acquired luminance until she -was betrayed—and Roberts looked, turned blind, and never looked again. - -The early darkness of winter had descended and the streets were brightly -lit with red and green lights. Snow, falling gently, coated the buildings -and walks. The holiday atmosphere—the thought of Christmas, gave them a -feeling of friendliness. They drove over to Fifth Avenue. - -All down the broad expanse of the great boulevard swept the Yuletide -spirit. The thick streams of people, carrying boxes and parcels wrapped -in colored paper, seemed compact—a constant mass instead of one of -gigantic fluctuation. At the corners they bumped and jostled each other, -frantically trying to retrieve dropped packages, laughing all the while. -There they were, pouring their laughter and hustle and gay concern over -the Avenue—a huge, comforting block of the world, this infinite throng. - -As Deane and Roberts passed St. Patrick’s Cathedral they noticed that -the doors of the church had been thrown open—a silent welcome to the -holiday crowds. There was an impression of austere immensity; and over -the kneeling figures which had sought tranquillity within the sacred -vault there shone a great soft radiance, whether from electric lights or -candles on the altar, Deane and Roberts did not know. - -Farther down the Avenue they could hear the muffled sound of chimes; and -as they drew near one of the department stores the sound became more -brilliant until they noticed that behind the glass of the one window -which ran its entire front length there was nothing but an illusion of -depth in a green-blue sky and two large gold bells, swinging slowly back -and forth. - -Deane turned to Roberts and was astonished to find that he was looking at -her instead of the lovely window. - -“It is as glorious as that other vault we passed,” she said quietly, -amazed at his attitude. - -“Yes,” he answered, still regarding her gravely, “and although beauty, -to me, is but a dream gone by—a vagrant moment—a motion lost before it’s -held—oddly, I find it stationary for one evening.” He paused and added, -looking at her fixedly, “Even within a superb commercial painting.” - -The chiming now covered the air with invisible shadows. There was an icy -wind; and as Deane sensing its fury within the well-heated car, pulled -her coat more tightly around her shoulders, Roberts again caught the -perfume of the flowers she was wearing, and their fragrance seemed to him -to become as audible—to have a resonance and vibration quite as definite -as the chimes. - -They spoke no more but continued down the Avenue until they came upon a -children’s shop with such a pretty charm about it that Roberts stopped -the car. For the shop’s display there was a miniature snowstorm—a tiny -replica of the one outside which was increasing in density each moment. -Amidst the artificial snow within the window were artificial children -posed in different attitudes. One small boy had his hand raised against -a snowman as though building him. A little girl stood by, just watching. -And still another boy was stooped as though gathering more snow. The -scene was such a dainty one that Roberts looked at it wistfully, with a -reserved hunger that seemed to demand release; and Deane, fascinated, -clasped her hands together. On the street a ragged boy, walking beside -a hulk of a man, stopped for a moment to look quietly, but in silent -despair at these happy children who played in the snow and wore such -pretty clothes. He stared particularly at the little girl, with her long, -blond curls and piquant face and her little dress and coat that were like -a dream. But the man, resentful, cuffed the boy’s cheek roughly, pulling -him along. The lad cringed. Deane thought she heard him cry out once and -turned her face away; while Roberts, who had also witnessed the episode, -started the car and drove on swiftly through the storm. - -Near the lower part of the Avenue, just before they turned off on Deane’s -street, they came upon a Christmas tree which had been set up in the -courtyard of a large apartment hotel. The branches of the pine were -straight and proud; and instead of the usual strings of many-colored -lights which had dressed the other trees along the boulevard, on this, -there were dull points of red under the boughs, or brilliant ones of -green that stood far out, so awkwardly, that by their very misplacement -the tree appeared to be native and uncut. It was without tinsel. -There was only the snow. The wind and the shadows did the rest. The -unusual reflections dwelt upon Deane’s face and Roberts turned to her -impulsively. - -“You are beautiful this evening, Deane,” he said. - -She looked at him once more and smiled, although she was a bit perplexed. -For some time she continued to gaze at him, watching the man, as vivid as -the tree itself against the snow. Then abruptly, the notion came to her -that his temperament might be flexible, and she lifted her head higher, -as though challenging him. Her eyes were sparkling. - -Roberts seemed frightened at first at her audacity and turned away in -embarrassment. Then, looking back to meet her dancing eyes, he broke -into a choppy laugh of singular amusement which Deane echoed. During -the rest of the drive they were silent; but there was a tenuous bond of -understanding between them; and when they reached Deane’s apartment, -Roberts stopped the engine and placed his hand lightly on hers. - -“Yes, you are a beautiful and an intricate woman,” he said quietly. - -Deane quickly withdrew her hand. She was surprised at the instantaneous -feeling of revulsion which came over her. There had been no -possessiveness in Roberts’ action—no suggestion of desire or intimacy. It -had been the movement of a child. But the contact had chilled her. What -was the quality about him that disturbed her now? Could it be a strong -jealousy of his interest in Martin? She could see Roberts stiffen in the -semi-darkness. - -“I beg your pardon,” he said, with hauteur. “My remark was entirely -impersonal.” - -“I know,” she said gently. Then, annoyed with herself, she added, “I -was thinking of Drew. To-night he arrives in France. I wonder if it is -snowing there.” - -The adviser dropped his shoulders. - -“It is snowing everywhere,” he said gravely. And as he assisted Deane out -of the car, he repeated, “—everywhere.” - -Feeling his wild and plaintive loneliness and his sorrow, Deane stepped -quite close to him, resting her gloved hand on his sleeve. - -“William!” she murmured softly. - -For one moment, their antipodal forces swung into parallel; and, so -going, Deane and Roberts smiled together. - - * * * * * - -When Martin came that evening, Deane said to him at once, “I saw Roberts -at the concert and he brought me home in his car. I liked him better than -ever before.” - -“Well,” Martin was thoughtful, “I can’t say that I like it—oh, you -needn’t explain his charm! I’m quite aware of it. But I’m afraid of his -mind. I’m afraid of the way it works, and I wish to God he’d get out of -the picture. It’s getting a little too uncanny—the way he checks on me.” -Martin pulled his chair closer to Deane’s. “I found out that he tried -to block my part-time job. Still, with all of it,” he continued, “my -attitude toward him remains variable; for underneath his mask lies a real -and secret protest. This protest is limitless—and if I’m right, rather -beautiful.” Martin laughed shortly. “Odd as it may be, I’m certain that -I’m responsible for many of his appearances. His sickness, if he _is_ -sick, is now abiding in a perfect culture.” - -“And what is that?” asked Deane, looking at him with her large eyes. - -“A medium of vicious love engendered by myself.” - -Deane laughed without restraint. - -“Darling,” she said, taking Martin’s face in her hands, “you want to be -so awfully bad, don’t you?” - -Martin smiled with her and she was satisfied, promptly forgetting the -adviser. - -“Drew looked very sad when he left, Martin,” she said. “Tell me—did he go -just because of you?” - -“Deane,” Martin said quite seriously, “we mustn’t keep on thinking that -all these forces are created by me.” Martin was pale in the shadows. -“That would be a timeless, horrible thought—a possible eternity. Can -anything be more terrible than eternity? All this action is separate -from myself. It _must_ be. It’s not possible that my demand has been too -much!” He was speaking hoarsely when Deane put her arms around him. - -“Darling,” she whispered, “I understand. Won’t you love me a little?” -By instinct she had given him that temporary haven where the mind of -man retreats after being frightened by its own infinite possibilities. -Deane’s gentle whisper and her fascinating implication of certain -physical contacts quieted his nerves abruptly and he felt as though a -sweet fire were crossing his spine. He closed his eyes, and allowing -Deane to lead him into the gray-paneled bedroom, he lay back on the -sheets, feeling her soft hands stroke his skin until he shivered. - -“Delightful boy—delicious boy,” she said, her voice trembling and growing -fainter. - -Martin tried to speak to her, but his mouth was dry. He lifted his arms -and held on to the rail of the bed, trying to pull away from the searing. -Then it overcame him. He rolled and pretended to fight, but in his brain -there was only an exultant shouting. - -As Deane knelt at the foot of the bed she looked down at Martin and -thought of the White Peacock; of the Gargoyle; and of their relation to -this man; and she felt the lustful brooding of this trilogy which was -dominant in her life. Her breasts rubbed against the fine hair of his -knees and each touch made her wilder. Pulling at him, she crawled up -beside him, her fingernails scratching the sheets. Then, from her throat -came a strange cry, a small cry, like the wail of a new-born child. - - * * * * * - -The snow kept piling against the windshield. Once, Roberts had to get -out and wipe it off from the outside. As he stepped back into the car -his foot slipped on something. Deane’s violets! He flung them into -the snow. In his imagination he saw Martin and Deane together—saw her -laughingly repeat their conversation of the afternoon. He visualized -Martin’s shrug, and contemptuous remarks. Roberts’ cheeks burned in -the dark and he drove more recklessly. At this very moment the woman -was probably in Martin’s arms.... Martin, with his sultry gray eyes -and tanned face. Martin, outlined like a flame before him.... Roberts -breathed the cold wind and spoke aloud. “He deserves nothing but my -hatred. If I could make him suffer as he has made me suffer! His picture -before me always!—superior, contemptuous and desirable! The night he sat -with me in my apartment, fresh from the sea—wind and salt in his eyes -and hair, I thought I had found life. My happiness stretched into the -horizon of his understanding. Solemn and patient, he spoke to me and -laughed with me. Now, he speaks of me, and laughs _at_ me—with her! I -can hear him laughing—” Roberts voice rose more fiercely. “He is saying, -‘What?—tried to hold your hand? What the devil would he want with that?’” -The irritating, superior tones rang in Roberts’ imagination. “Yes, I -can hear them: ‘Poor old Roberts—what a pity—chap must lead an awful -life—imagine going around with that handicap—not that there’s any moral -application, just a matter of convenience—continually frustrated.’” -Roberts pounded the steering wheel with his fist. “The cattle!” he -whispered hoarsely. “As if they could understand—as if _anyone_ could -understand. Damn them—their laughter and their insufferable attitude! -Damn their happiness.... Drink it, Roberts!—That I should measure my -life in terms of one night! One night with Martin, with his young face -and old eyes. With his laughter and his understanding. What agony to be -born one night and die the same! Better not to be born at all.... Why, -Martin, did you swagger through the door with your flapping dungarees -and proud head?... Angels dancing in the eyes that hold only devils now. -Such insolence! A bright, beautiful distillation of evil. Martin—the -god of selfishness, salt to the desire. A blinding picture that grows -with absence. A dust that burns the eyes and chokes the appetite.... -Delete the image!—step upon it, crush it only to see it rise anew, more -beautiful and vicious than before.” Hot tears distorted Roberts’ vision. -He drew his hand across his face angrily. In a flashing, intolerable -whiteness, he saw himself swinging on the tapestry of his heritage. -“God!” he cried into the night. “Predestination—crucified in the womb!” -The image grew more hateful in his mind. The cold wind dried his tears. -Slowly his mouth narrowed into a fanatical line. “He has made me suffer. -Moving relentlessly, superficially, over people and life—eating life and -dripping its tantalizing crumbs from an overstuffed mouth—ruthless and -immaculate, he has made me suffer.” Roberts’ face was white in the light -from the windshield. White, unsmiling and purposeful. - - - - -_CHAPTER XX_ - - -Martin met few people; but there was an atmosphere of tension everywhere -he walked. It didn’t make any difference what color their eyes were—blue -or brown or clay, there was action. Mostly it was antipathy engendered -by something the fulcrum of this hate could not understand. Sometimes, -however, it was love—a piercing, shrill movement that fell, ageless and -sexless, over his shoulders. - -He did well with his work at the printing plant and was finally -transferred to a night shift where he found, to his relief, that the -hours were shorter, thus giving him precious moments that he could spend -with Deane or devote to the perfecting of his type design. He liked -also the quality of concentrated activity during these working hours -at the plant, occasioned in part by the darkness which enveloped the -building and grounds. He had no contact with the men around him except at -coffeetime; and they, in turn, sensed an indivisible chasm where their -thoughts and his whirled in confusion above them. - -Once, during the evening, a machine squirted. The operator, swearing -loudly, kicked back his chair and was picking the lead from his trousers -when Martin glanced up, a phrase from the copy still in his mind. He went -to the man at once to help him; but the molten metal, already hardened -into splinters, had entered the fleshy part of the operator’s leg, and -the man, in considerable discomfort, nodded his thanks to Martin and -still swearing, softly now to himself, limped out of the room and down -the hall. - -It was two o’clock in the morning and time for the men to knock off. In -the awkward blue light Martin wiped a smear of oil from his cheek. The -mirror was so distorted and the light so penetrating that his face seemed -one sided and all the lines about his mouth and eyes were pulling in -the wrong directions. He washed his hands and face, glanced again into -the crazy mirror, buttoned his pea-jacket and headed for his room in -Greenwich Village. - -His street was in a dimly lighted section made up of rooming houses -occupied chiefly by small tradesmen. He had walked several blocks before -he stopped to light a cigarette. It was very quiet and through the shabby -elms the night seemed beautiful and lonely. As he started on he heard -someone behind him. From the sound of the step, it was a woman. Vaguely, -he wondered about her; but he walked on briskly, enjoying this brief, -cold freedom, then stopped again, looking with interest straight overhead -at the same stars he had watched move in different latitudes and from -different ships. For the second time he heard the steps behind him and -turned round. At this, they broke off sharply, but not before Martin had -caught a distinctive note in them. They had a giddy pitch that was not -purely feminine. His curiosity was aroused. He started down the street -once more, walking slowly now, with a precise, even stride. Then he -stopped abruptly. The feet behind him tapped on for a second, fluttered, -hesitated and stopped again. Suddenly, in Martin’s mind, the unmusical -gait gathered motif, meaning and form. He remembered a repulsively ardent -smile.... “Carol!” he shouted. There was no answer. Again he tried. “Hi! -Carol!” This time his follower ran quickly toward him. - -“How did you know it was me, Martin?” asked the boy excitedly, all smiles. - -Martin, chameleon-like, studied the dregs of his memory for similar -situations or, he thought grimly, singular opportunities; for this was -not an element to be faced, but one to be absorbed. - -“We all have our characteristics, Carol,” he answered evenly. - -“Do you like mine, Martin?” Carol’s plaintive tone softened the eager, -beseeching import of his question. - -Again Martin hesitated. He well knew that the middle path was not as the -Romans had worked it out—a smooth highway, without deviation. He knew -that the middle path must fluctuate with both extremes to deserve the -term—which in this case, he observed to himself further with a certain -cynical amusement, was between a bitch and a son-of-a-bitch. He took hold -of the young man’s arm and spoke to him in a friendly fashion. - -“Let’s go on up to my place, Carol,” he said. - -On the dark stairs Carol followed close at his heels. Martin could -feel little tugs at his coat as the young man hung on to him in a sort -of childish panic and Martin had a distinct impression that Carol was -groping for his hand. He could feel the boy’s breath on the back of his -neck as they continued to climb; and when they reached the dark landing -just outside Martin’s room, Carol was still hanging on to him feverishly. -Martin fumbled for the keyhole, succeeded in finding it at last, opened -the door and turned on a dim light. Carol followed him into the room, -sighed with relief and closed the door quickly behind them. - -He stood there, just inside, his hand still on the doorknob, gazing -around him with wide eyes and obviously taking notes. There was a pallet -on the floor in one corner, an old couch across from it and a writing -desk in the center of the room. He could see a T-square, erasers and -jumbled pieces of paper on the desk beside a miniature of Deane. He -turned his head away suddenly at sight of the picture. In another corner -of the room was a washbowl with a screen half around it. There was a -general air of carelessness about the place which apparently made him -nervous. Martin could see him straightening up things in his mind. - -“It’s really more comfortable than it looks, Carol,” he said, trying to -put his guest more at ease. “They keep the rooms warm and that bed sleeps -better than it appears.” He unbuttoned his pea-jacket and hung it on a -nail on the wall. “Take off your coat, Carol, won’t you?—and tell me what -it’s all about. Two o’clock’s an odd time to go creeping after people. -Why didn’t you call out?” - -“I was afraid you wouldn’t like it,” answered the boy, biting his lip. He -removed his thickly woven plaid overcoat, looked for a moment at the nail -where Martin’s jacket hung, then folded his own coat meticulously, gave -it a final pat and placed it with the utmost care over the back of the -rocker. - -“I don’t like it, when it’s handled that way,” said Martin, keeping his -voice smooth. “I prefer a ‘hello.’” - -Carol spoke softly. - -“I had to follow you. Deane told me where you worked.” - -“You asked her?” For the first time, Martin was genuinely annoyed. - -Carol smiled unhappily. - -“I had to, Martin. I think you’re wonderful.” His round face was ruddy -and glowing and his eyes, bright and intent, were fixed on his host. - -“Sit down, Carol.” Martin opened the window, pulled his own chair from -under the desk and sat down facing him. “That’s strange,” he went on, a -bit puzzled. “I thought you disliked me.” He brushed back his hair where -the cold wind had rumpled it and sat quietly, staring out the window into -the darkness. - -Carol shuffled uneasily. - -“I did at first. You were mean. I nearly hated you.” He sat forward, well -on the edge of his chair. “But I don’t now. I’m different now.” - -“Not at all,” said Martin, shaking his head quite seriously. “You’ll feel -the same at the last as you did at the first. I’m sure of it.” - -“I won’t change, dear Martin. I think you’re God,” the boy answered -solemnly. - -Martin nodded. Through the insufficient light within the room, the bronze -tints of his skin deepened. - -“Perhaps I am,” he said. - -“Please don’t joke,” said Carol. His voice had acquired a pathetic, -pleading quality. “I mean you really are—to me.” He shifted his position -so that he could not see Deane’s picture. - -“She won’t bite,” said Martin bluntly. - -Carol twisted his hands. - -“Can’t you see it my way a little bit, Martin?” The boy spoke now with -a definite urgency, his words forming an aggressive prayer. “Can’t you -change _some_?” - -“No,” Martin answered. “I can’t see the advantage.” - -“_I_ know the advantage,” said Carol softly. “I wish you’d try and change -just a little bit.” He hesitated, his eyes shining. “I can’t tell you—but -I could teach you, Martin.” - -“How did this begin, Carol?” - -The boy gave him a fond, acquisitive glance. - -“It began that afternoon at Deane’s. You took my part. And then, at the -drag, you were so beautiful in your yellow gown that I fell in love right -away. How did you do your hair? It was perfect!” - -“Damned if I know,” said Martin. He stared out the window again. - -Carol lowered his head, pouting. - -“But it wasn’t fixed the same way after you came down with Drew.” - -“No?” asked Martin absently. - -“No,” said Carol. “It was pinned different.” - -Martin smiled. - -“Are you sure,” he asked, “that it wasn’t Drew about whom you were -concerned?” - -“Oh!” said Carol, flushing, “I never felt that way about Drew. I just -_love_ to talk with him and be a pal; but I never felt about him—like -this—” His lips trembled a little. “Maybe I was a little flirty—he’s been -so sweet to me; but then I’ve been that way before, and I’ve never been -in love. It was all puppy stuff before.” - -Martin slumped down in his chair. - -“I’ve changed quite a bit in my opinions about things too, Carol,” he -said. “But it hasn’t boiled over and I don’t believe it ever will. You -know, Carol, that I love Deane.” - -The boy leaned forward eagerly. - -“Oh, I know lots of boys that like girls,” he replied, nodding his head -wisely. “But they like boys, too.” With a timid gesture he reached out -and touched Martin’s hand. The back of Martin’s scalp tingled and he felt -like shivering; but he did not move. - -“It’s no go, Carol,” he said, with finality. “It damned well gives me the -creeps.” - -Carol leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. - -“God,” he said, “I wish you’d try.” He bent forward again, making no -attempt to restrain his sorrowful desire. - -Martin jumped up, a kind of dull horror building into rage. He took Carol -roughly by the shoulders. - -“God damn you! What’s wrong with you? What the hell’s wrong with all of -you? Don’t you like the feel of a woman’s breast? Don’t you like a mouth -that’s soft and sweet, instead of a god-damned beard?” He noticed that he -was shaking Carol and stopped. He moved back a pace, his face shaded, the -perspiration pouring from his brow in streams. “Do you think it’s smart -to be this way? Do you think it’s clever?” He closed his fists. “Give me -Eve, god damn you! Give me Eve, and take your Adam!” - -Carol was weeping softly. - -“God,” he said. “I don’t think it’s smart.... Oh, Martin, I’m so lonely. -I can’t help how I feel.... Don’t be mad.... I won’t do anything.... -Please—” He was rocking back and forth in his helpless grief. - -Martin sat down again. His face, which had hardened in the previous -moment, lost its straight lines and the color came back to his cheeks. He -ran his hand, which was trembling slightly, across his eyes. He sat very -straight and stiff. - -“I’m sorry, Carol,” he declared sincerely. “I lost my head. I understand.” - -But Carol cried out, his palms against his temples, “You understand? -_You?_ You don’t understand at all.... The days! The long, wet days!—I -can’t stand them alone again!... You don’t know how I was born. How I -was raised. My mother died when I was born—Oh! I’d have loved her.... My -father took me to a mining camp. There weren’t any women. Even the cook -was a man. They played with me, and gave me money.... After my father -died, there were more men.... It’s my first thought, and my last.... I -wish you _did_ understand. Then you’d just _have_ to love me.” - -And Martin looked at Carol, at the tears running down his cheeks, at the -pain that locked his face into the unknown agonies. He looked at the -desk, at the picture of Deane and back again at Carol. And to himself he -said repeatedly, “What good is compassion now!—What good is compassion -now!” - -Strangely, he went to Carol, a dark line between his eyes, although there -was no frown except one for himself. For a moment he stood facing the boy -so steadily and patiently that Carol wet his lips in nervousness, waiting -in a kind of stolid anticipation for whatever was to come. Slowly, but -with no hesitation, and still regarding the boy with an indefinable -expression, Martin raised his hand and laid it on the other’s with such -feeling, yet such weight that Carol stepped away and bent his knee as -though he had been struck. Then, unresistant to Martin’s comprehensive -look—a look so full of search, and surely pain, and perhaps knowing—and -calmed by a hand that had found kindness in its power, Carol stepped -forward again and held himself as though he were bemused—for so he -was, with all his innocence and limitations conflicting with desire. -And all the hopeless libido went out of him before this other one who -was so straight and quiet and held him like—Carol thought, and thought -again—like—and then quite swiftly it was revealed to him; like one man -holds another. This chemical transmutation within him was so rapid that -even Martin failed to see it. Just the same, as Carol, firmly gripped by -Martin in equality, knew himself another man, he lifted his shoulders, -stiffened in his new pride as he beheld new vistas; and in an immediate -beauty smiled, unknowing that he had left Martin, who dropped his hand, -bewildered. - -Martin helped the boy on with his coat. - -“Carol,” he said, his arm around him, “I want you to know that I’m your -friend.” Impulsively he went to his desk and searched through a drawer. -He drew out a snapshot and handed it to Carol. “Here I am,” he said, -“climbing a king post at the beginning of a bad day.” It was a plain -little picture of a ship at a crazy tilt with the sea, and Martin hanging -tightly as he worked with a lashing; but Carol put it carefully in his -pocket and smiled happily. - - - - -_CHAPTER XXI_ - - -The days were getting warmer. Rio stopped by Martin’s house in the early -afternoon and together they walked to the Battery where they sat down on -a bench out of the sun. People were pouring in and out of the Aquarium. -Boats leaving for Bedloe’s Island whistled and grunted against the docks. -Liberty herself, as statuesque as ever, shone from her spring cleaning -and seemed to hold her torch still higher and more independently. - -Turning away from the water, Rio glanced at Martin’s hand, his attention -called to it, perhaps, by a ray of sunlight which fell slantingly upon a -flat block of black onyx with a point of ruby in one corner which Martin -wore upon his middle finger. - -“I’ve always wanted to ask you about that funny ring you got there,” said -Rio, yawning. “Where’d you find it?” - -Martin twisted the ring until it caught the sun more evenly before he -spoke. - -“In the Red Sea,” he finally replied. - -“Sounds like somethin’ back of it,” persisted Rio. - -“There is.” Martin locked his hands around one knee and leaned forward -in an attitude of tenseness. “The year before I met you, Rio, I got -hurt on the old _Silver Cross_. She’s being scrapped now, and this was -when she made her last trip to the East. I was pretty bad in the Indian -Ocean, and the weather didn’t help any. I was worse at Aden; and they -had to take me off at Massaua. When I was getting well I met a fellow -named Nahrinja who was agent for a man who owned a pearl-fishing fleet. I -wanted to get out on one of the boats to see how the boys went about it. -So when I was better he gave me a knock-down to one of the Arab skippers -and we set out. - -“The Sudanese divers all seemed to like me, for I took to their native -lute as though I’d played it all my life. In a few days I could do -their ancient chants on the tamboura—somehow, understanding this sad, -lost music. One Sudanese in particular, a boy named Sali, used to squat -silently on the deck and watch me by the hour. - -“We were after the finest pearl—the bilbil. And one morning Sali and I -launched his dugout and piled in, the natives laughing a good deal, for I -wasn’t used to their tipsy little pirogues. I paddled, while Sali looked -through a glass-bottomed box for a good spot. When he found it, he went -over the side with a weight to a depth of forty or fifty feet, while I -watched through the box to see if he was all right and kept a lookout -for shark. I had tried it once, myself, in shallower water and had got -nicely stung by a poison fish for my efforts. Sali had many such scars -and seemed used to it. But he told me to be careful of the giant clams, -careful of the coral and particularly leery of the whip-tail ray, which -can give you a bad cut with their barb. - -“Sali worked more than he should; but he brought back good oyster. I was -having a hell of a good time in spite of the stinks, and looked like one -of the divers with my loincloth and my skin crusted with salt. Then it -happened.” Martin looked at his ring again and continued. - -“Sali had just left the ocean bed when I saw a black fin circle the bow -of the boat. From his back, the shark was a big one. I began smacking -the water with an iron pole, trying to frighten him away or attract his -attention to the other side of the dugout, and to warn Sali, who was -coming up fast. - -“But just as the boy hit the surface, the shark struck him and Sali’s -head went under. I jumped over the side and got him by the hair. When I -brought him above water and could see his face, it looked as though it -were frozen. He didn’t say anything or make any effort, and I couldn’t -get him in the canoe; but when I clamped his hand on the gunwhale he held -to it like a child, and I climbed into the boat by the stern, hoping the -beast wouldn’t come back till I’d pulled the lad in. Finally, I got him -by the wrist and managed to haul him in without capsizing. He looked down -at his body at the place where his leg had been, for it was off high -up next the hip. Then he looked at me and smiled, while two big tears -ran down his cheeks.” Martin stopped again and choked. “I hope, Rio, it -was because he was shocked out of his wits. I stripped off my loincloth -and tried, as only a desperate man can do, to get a tourniquet around -a place where I didn’t even have a stub to work on. At last, I started -to shove my fist up the hole where the blood was spurting; and then, -realizing that I was going mad myself, I grabbed a paddle and headed for -the mother-boat like a demon. A pretty picture, eh, Rio?” said Martin -bitterly. “A naked white man, as bloody by this time as the Sudanese, -racing through the Red Sea with a dying boy who thought I could make him -live—for that was what he kept saying all the time.” - -“Cut it,” said Rio, his face hard. “Did you get him to the boat alive?” - -“Yes,” answered Martin. “The nakhuda and another Arab hoisted him aboard -and we laid him on the deck, out of the sun, with his head propped up. -There were only minutes left, with nothing to do but magic; so I rubbed -his wrists and whispered the Lord’s Prayer to him. It sounded all right -on that blistering deck, or must have done so, for Sali kept smiling and -repeating the words—the sound of the words after me.... ‘Our Father which -art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.’ ... Then his face changed—I saw it -coming. He spoke thinly to the nakhuda, who knelt down and cut the string -around the boy’s neck which held this amulet.” Martin pointed to the -charm on his finger. “Sali took it, and with that hopeless, sweet trust -glazed on his eyes forever, held it out to me that death-like second -before death.” - -Martin cleared his throat and looked down at the grass. - -After watching him for a moment Rio said quietly, “That’s the last time -I’ll ever ask about a ring. I done it once before, and I ought to know -better.” - -“What happened?” asked Martin. - -Rio took his time, and scanned the harbor before he spoke. - -“I shipped out of Liverpool,” he said at last, “because I had to once, -on a vessel bound for the Solomon Islands. My watch partner looked like -a Limey, but he was a shanty Irishman from Philadelphia. I never could -quite make ’im out. We had two hours in Lisbon on the trip South, and -he give a kid two bits American to get off a spittoon in a Portugee gin -mill. He told me it made him nervous, seein’ a boy sit like that. Well, -we had some sour wine and some biscuits before I seen his ring. It was a -wide gold band on his left middle finger, and somehow I asked him about -it. He grinned and looked pretty sick; but he said it was for Maud. I -took another drink and lit up a cigarette because I couldn’t see no woman -with _him_. He called himself ‘Philadelphia Dick,’ but the city would’ve -killed ’im for it, since he was the ugliest bastard I ever seen, with a -skin like tripe and a red eyelid that hung down like a lantern over his -left eye. He knowed I didn’t believe that Maud stuff, and that damned -eyelid dropped down like he was laughin’ at me, while he chewed on a -biscuit with the ring wigglin’ all the time under his Harp nose. - -“We sailed, soon after, for undetermined cargo on the Solomon’s. Every -man of us got fed up after we got there, for it was ‘lay to, and wait -for orders.’ We had the ship so clean she ached, and finally we got -shore-leave. The second engineer hammered me out a barb and Chips fixed -an ironwood shaft for me, so I had a good harpoon to try on the bass and -some red trout I seen around there. Philadelphia Dick grinned and looked -sick again when he heard I was goin’ fishin’; but he and a couple of -other sailors come along. - -“It was a small atoll I picked near the mainland; so we rolled up our -pants and waded to the belt of coral to have a look at the lagoon. The -water was still; but all the fish I could see was small for my spear. -One of the boys though, who was standin’ between me and Dick, slapped me -on the arm and reached quick for the harpoon; and then I could see the -water break a ways out, and a turtle come up from the shallows. It was -a big one—about three hundred pounds—and we all got down on our knees -and stayed quiet, except Philadelphia Dick. He stood there with his jaw -droppin’ and his skin turnin’ so red that his loose eyelid hung down, -limp and white, like a blossom. - -“The turtle waded up pretty slow, takin’ its own damned way like they -always do, till the guy that had my spear seen it was time. He jumped up -and run toward the creature, raisin’ his arm to let the turtle have it -through the eye. But he never made it,” Rio added slowly. “Philadelphia -Dick hit him in the cheek and then in the nose, which broke so we could -all hear it snap—even the damned turtle, who crawled on up like nothin’ -had happened. Well, we stood there like a bunch of god-damned fools, like -the guy who’d been clipped, while the turtle come on till she stood right -in front of Philadelphia Dick. By God!—they watched each other till it -made us feel in the way somehow, and we got the hell out of there. Once, -the guy with the bloody face turned round and looked back at Dick and the -turtle. ‘She took his eye, Rio,’ he said to me, funny-like. And I said, -‘Yeah—that’s Maud.’ ‘Maud?’ he said, still lookin’ funny, and we went -back to the ship. - -“Philadelphia Dick didn’t come back that night; but a native brought -’im alongside the next mornin’ and he come up the Jacob’s ladder like a -snake. The Chinee cook seen ’im first and turned green. For Dick’s eyelid -was down to his cheek like it had been sewed there, and his good eye was -too cold for a man. But the worst thing was the look of his Irish nose -that had been tilted up for thirty-five years—till then—but that had bent -overnight into a hook as sharp as the creature’s we was all thinkin’ of. -By the mercy of God, we sailed that evenin’ for Sarawak. Philadelphia -Dick was at the steam winch when I seen ’im last; but five minutes later -nobody could find ’im on the ship. When we got to Borneo the Devil -himself must’ve reversed our sailing orders; for we was sent back to the -Solomons, though the sailors hadn’t no stomach for it, I can tell you. -The galley boy, more scared than silly, said somethin’ about Maud, and -got the back of the hand from one of the men. Most of us, though, took -this jinx along with the bugs and the sour bread; but we was all steppin’ -like the Chief’s cat when we hove to about the place where Philadelphia -Dick had jumped ship. We was all by the rail expectin’ somethin’, and we -got it. A couple of turtles drifted in about midships and out of the long -green we watched two beaks come up. One was Maud, the other a stranger. -The god-damned Chinee cook yelled out and pointed. I seen the fella—a -wide blue turtle with a heavy, forward shell. He scratched Maud (who -looked pretty wise) with his right flipper and lifted the other one at -us. The damned Chinee yelled again and we seen why; for there was a gold -band like a barrel hoop, high up on that blue turtle’s port leg, where no -human hand could’ve put it.” Rio stopped. - -“And then?” asked Martin. - -“And then a film come over that fella’s left eye and dropped down like -our shipmate’s—and sure enough, there was Philadelphia Dick, hatin’ our -guts, but tickled; and with all of us lookin’ on and wonderin’, he winked -at us again and sounded, with his arm under Maud’s belly.” - -Rio cleared his throat and looked out at the water. For a few minutes, -the two men remained quiet until Rio, glancing at Martin, saw that his -friend was hunched forward, his head down, still staring at the grass, -and that his eyes were wet. - -“For God’s sake, Martin,” he said. - -Martin put his hand under his chin and regarded the other with a look so -brief and yet so haunting that Rio held his tongue. - -A Green Circle ship was leaving the harbor. The word NOMAD was painted on -her bow. - -“I made a trip on her one time,” said Rio, pointing, and changing the -subject deliberately. “Old Hungry was the steward. God! What food!” - -Martin straightened up and leaned back against the hard, wooden bench. - -“I never saw you when you couldn’t eat,” he said, smiling a little. - -“This wasn’t no different,” replied Rio, grinning with satisfaction. “I -got chummy with the galley boy and lived handsome. I ate the Old Man’s -oranges and drank the chief engineer’s ale.” - -Martin looked amused. - -“Did the kid supply you with romance, too?” he asked. - -Rio regarded him strangely. - -“No,” he stated, after a moment, “but that brings somethin’ to mind. -Maybe you know the answer, my educated friend.” - -“Perhaps,” said Martin, in a dry tone. - -Rio shifted his position, moving back out of the sun. - -“I was in Santa de Marina last trip, as you know,” he said. “There was a -girl, and a boy.” He stopped talking abruptly and removed his cap long -enough to wipe away the perspiration which had gathered on the band. “By -God, I can’t finish it!” he added vehemently. - -Martin was silent. - -Rio thought for a moment, then sighed and went on. - -“Yeah, it’s hard tellin’. There was somethin’ funny about the girl. Funny -in a nice way. And she was screwy, too.” He wrinkled up his nose. “She -made me dance pretty, but I could see she wasn’t tryin’ to.” - -“In the Street of Curtains?” asked Martin. - -“Yeah. But she don’t belong there,” said Rio, his voice rising. “I don’t -believe I’ll leave her there.” - -“That sounds just right,” observed his friend. - -“You ain’t heard the story,” said Rio quietly. - -“That’s right. The boy?” - -Rio shook his head. - -“He’s tougher to figure than his sister.” - -Martin glanced up, interested for the first time. - -“His sister was the girl?” - -“His sister was the girl,” repeated Rio. “The boy—well—I never knowed no -kid like him—” He stopped and stared at his friend. “Unless——” - -“Unless it was myself, Rio?” supplied Martin, a hard smile on his lips. - -“Since you’ve said it—yeah.” Rio looked out at the harbor again. “I give -the girl all the money I had, and went back to the ship with the boy. On -the way, there was a tree in flower—” He turned sharply on Martin and -took hold of his shoulder. “Say,” he said in a low, intense voice, “what -the hell’s wrong with me, Martin? By God, I want the truth!” - -Martin could see astonishment and resentment in Rio’s face; also a -desperate sense of fear. - -“There isn’t anything wrong with you, Rio,” he said calmly. “I’ve been -afraid, too. And I’ve been sick with anger at the extremes. But if God -Almighty granted you one precious moment, as I believe He did, and you -didn’t spend it, you can get down on your damned knees with the rest of -the dilettantes and say your A B C’s to Heaven the rest of your life -without getting another.” Martin’s face was now so flushed with an anger -he could not understand that it was as dark as Rio’s. - -The frown had left Rio’s face. Infinitely puzzled, yet reassured, he -stared at his friend. - -“You can still talk, can’t you, Martin? You can still make me believe -you. Yeah, even when you lie, you make me feel better.” - -“Yes,” said Martin, “I can still talk. For I have a problem myself. -Perhaps you can help me with it.” - -“Shoot,” said Rio, relief in his voice. - -“It’s about Carol. I’ll try to make it quick for I know you don’t like -him.” - -“D’you?” - -“Never mind about that. Here’s the point. Things are getting a little -mixed up in our fashionable set. Drew kept down the friction, but he went -away and I can’t say that I blame him.” - -Rio grinned. - -“He didn’t cut down the friction on me,” he said, patting his back and -grimacing. “But I’m not sore at him.” Rio laughed out loud. “He’s too -damned pretty. Anyway, what about Carol?” - -Martin leaned over and spoke confidentially. - -“I can’t tell you now, but I saw it,” he said, in a low voice. “Carol’s -bound for it,” he went on moodily. “What a shame!” - -Rio swung around to stare at his friend. His own mouth was open, and his -soft brown eyes were as wide, as honest and as startled as those of a -besieged mare. - -“I’ll be god-damned!” he whispered, and turned away from Martin to stare -out to sea. He stuck out his tongue and pulled at his ears. Then, after a -moment, he settled back on the bench and regarded Martin with a worried -expression. The sun disappeared behind a sailboat and in the bay, Liberty -grew darker. A salt wind came up from the harbor and the shadow of the -Aquarium now covered all that section of the Battery. - - - - -_CHAPTER XXII_ - - -It was uncomfortably warm in the room where Martin was working on his -type. He tried it awhile longer, then put aside his papers and went to -the roof. - -There were two women lying on a blanket taking a sun bath. They were in -bathing suits and had the straps pulled down over their shoulders. Martin -had to pass them to get to the opposite side of the porch. So he excused -himself and only glanced at them briefly. But his presence apparently -irritated them. One of the women, dark-haired and older than the other, -seemed particularly annoyed. She laid her hand on the younger girl’s arm -and whispered something audibly and caustically to her friend. The remark -was in such bad taste that Martin turned around and surveyed them coolly. - -A dog was lying on the blanket with the women. He was little and white. -He was young and curious and friendly. He trotted over to Martin, -observed his white slacks, then looked back at his own coat. He sniffed -at the slacks and raised his head, and all the while, Martin stood -quietly and looked at him. The dog’s eyes were brown. His legs were -sturdy. Martin wanted to put his hand on the little head. He had done -it before with animals. It was a sort of blessing. He wanted to say, “I -like you. Don’t let yourself be destroyed by these people.” But he did -not move. The women would object. They would speak sharply and the puppy -would be ashamed. - -Blood filled Martin’s head. He had worked late the night before and he -was tired. Anger shook his mind. Once more he looked across the roof at -the women. Then he knelt to the dog. Holding the nervous head between -his hands he watched the brown eyes. In his own was reflected an heroic -poem—an attainable star. Martin did not beg nor did he demand. He showed -the small one something greater than pettings and soft food. He showed -him hard winds, ice and sun; his wolf-like ancestors—their smoky, torn -fur. The dog became quiet, watching intently. He made no sound. - -Martin held him patiently, listening with him to the soft pad of feet on -the leaves above and around them. The dog’s brown eyes grew wider, older, -and became lost.... - -Martin stood up and regarded the women, thinking, “Symbols of a denatured -civilization! Men linked together are strung, it is true, on the rock of -a fool’s evolution. But in them tragedy, strength and beauty neutralize -the distortion—while across from me, on the roof, grope the clowns, the -mimics, playing music they can never understand. The chords they touch -turn black....” - -The older woman called the dog to her. She put her arm around him and -called him “Willie.” It was not the word. It was her eyes, and her mouth, -and the way her hands worked. “It is an indictment of womanhood,” thought -Martin. The woman looked at him; and seeing him stand so cold and full of -hatred, she held the dog tighter. She held his fur and his body tighter; -but Willie had gone. He was standing by a campfire. His hair was singed -and there was a red line across his shoulders. His eyes were tired and -glad with dreams. - -Every woman feels biological change. It is her first lesson and her last. -Although she often misinterprets her intuitive strength, she possesses -it. This woman looked at Willie. She could not smell the singed hair nor -see the red line; but she did see his eyes. A sadness, a real sorrow was -in her. She turned from the dog to Martin who stood contemptuous and -erect, and she turned away. - -“Now am I right,” Martin asked himself, observing in spite of his anger -this dark woman’s passion, “to condemn the ovary that cries out for -its sister?—and absolve by ritual the formulated counterpart in man?” -He stood there, pondering in this procession of new thought. “And am I -wrong, that I can’t feel the love that topples ethics, puts wire in soft -fingers with one breath!... Why can’t I feel the music of one breast upon -another? And why do I call such music ‘black,’ when I might taste much -softer lips than mine upon much softer lips?... These dismal cries—two -sheer stockings ripped from their garters and one frightened voice -saying, ‘God! Make it straight with me!’—while the other, frantically -tries syntheses and fluctuating pose....” Martin watched the slender -clouds beyond the black roofs for a moment, then went below. - - * * * * * - -Martin was drowsing on the couch in his room when there was a rap at the -door which he had left open. He glanced up sleepily. Roberts was standing -there, an attempted smile only accentuating his moroseness. - -“Come on in,” said Martin cordially, sitting up. “Have a chair. That -one’s the most comfortable.” He pointed to the rocker. - -“Damn comfort,” replied Roberts, nevertheless sitting down. He was -thinner. There was an harassed expression on his face which Martin had -never seen before. “I dare say you’re surprised at my coming here,” he -continued. - -“No,” said Martin, frankly good-humored. “And I’m glad to see you.” - -The adviser waved the words away. - -“Don’t be social, in heaven’s name. It isn’t in your make-up. And if -_you’re_ not surprised, I am, considering the attitude you’ve taken -toward me lately.” - -Martin laughed, stood up and stretched and offered him a cigarette. - -“Don’t be a damned grouch, Roberts. You never got an attitude you didn’t -ask for. Light up, and I’ll show you some work I’m doing. It’s too hot to -fight.” - -“Stop talking like a hussy,” said the adviser as he took the cigarette. -His face was damp and his hand was shaking. - -Martin half-closed his eyes and there was a curious line about his mouth. -Then he laughed again and held out a lighted match. - -“What’s so amusing?” asked Roberts, holding his hand against his cheeks -which seemed to be burning. “Is it this squalor you’re living in, or is -it I? You’re steeped in sin, Martin; but this is the first time I’ve felt -the flatness of hypocrisy.” There lay his mistake. He’d struck a heel -softer than he knew. For with every flaw Martin had, he hated the word -just spoken the most. His entire appearance changed and his cheeks became -as white as Roberts’ were red. - -“Are you here as a friend?” he asked. - -The changed timbre of Martin’s voice seemed to stabilize Roberts. - -“As a friend.” The adviser was serious. “I have something that should -interest you vitally.” He regarded Martin, who still seemed unresponsive. -“Don’t underestimate this,” Roberts continued severely. “I happen to know -that Carol is following you.” He waited intently for the effect of this -speech upon his listener. - -“I suspected as much,” answered Martin. “In fact, I found him at it one -night and asked him up.” - -“What?” cried Roberts, shocked, amazed, with every thread of jealousy -burning in his face. “Good God, Martin! The man’s dangerous. I know him -better than you do. He’s pathological. He’ll stop at nothing. And you -permitted him—you saw him here, alone?” - -“Yes,” said Martin dryly. “All, all alone.” - -Roberts stood up, propped his stick in a corner and walked the length -of the room. His head was lowered; he was absorbed as if debating with -himself. At last, he turned swiftly. - -“You don’t want to die, do you?” he asked, staring. - -“No.” - -“Then watch out.” - -“For what?” - -“For that kind of impudence which incurs my displeasure.” - -Martin leaned back against the head of the couch, put his chin on his -hands and looked solemnly at his visitor. - -“Have you lost your mind?” he asked. - -Roberts’ mouth opened and shut as though he were in rarefied air. Then he -sat down again and looked at his hand which was still shaking. - -“Martin,” he whispered, “I’m frightened.” - -“I’m not astonished at that.” Martin sat up. “Roberts!” he cried -earnestly. “It’s imperative that you get your thoughts out of this -channel!” - -“There _is_ no other channel,” interrupted the adviser. “I’m humiliated, -degraded—but there is no other channel.” - -“Very well,” said Martin. “I won’t try to persuade you to think -differently then. But I do ask you to give me the real purpose of this -call.” - -“I came to warn you.” - -“Against Carol, or yourself?” - -Roberts did not answer. His face was set and all the color had drained -out of it. - -Martin observed him closely. - -“You’ve had some bad nights, my friend.” - -The adviser wiped his forehead. - -“Yes. Bad nights. That I should live—for this!” He looked about him -wildly. - -Martin sat up straighter. - -“Overlook the This, my mad companion, and look for That!”[4] - -Roberts stared at him with amazement rising to horror. - -“Destroyer of words!” he said. “My God! You destroyer of sand and clay -and rock that make the brilliant hills!” - -“Yes. Destroyer.” Martin nodded in agreement. - -Roberts got up, holding unsteadily to the arm of the chair. - -“I’ll leave you to your destiny!” he cried with savage vehemence. - -“Unless it’s interwoven,” answered Martin coldly. - -The adviser’s eyes grew bright as though with fever. - -“Again, your hatred in your words.” - -Martin nodded once more. - -“That’s right.” - -“What will you do if I don’t permit you——” Roberts stopped. - -“Propose something,” commanded Martin, rising. - -“I do.” The adviser picked up his stick and walked uncertainly toward -the door. As he turned, he seemed to be smiling. “I _have_ proposed -something.” - -With an easy stride Martin went to him. He took the stick from his hand -and placed it against the wall. He reached for the door and closed it. -Deliberately, he caught Roberts by the waist and bent him backwards until -he fell. Then he poured one bitter kiss after another—his teeth cutting -the adviser’s tender lips and cheeks, his sweat falling like molecules of -light. - -Roberts screamed and turned his face away. - - - - -_CHAPTER XXIII_ - - -One quiet evening Deane and Martin walked down to a street Exhibit in -the Village. Since Roberts’ visit to Martin, Deane had felt a melancholy -restlessness about the man she loved; and on this evening, with small -stationary clouds in the west prolonging the summer twilight, she tried -with careful intrigue to bring him back again. - -They walked the long way—past odd, forsaken streets; past streets with -checkered, foreign signs; past junk shops, curio shops; past streets -where old furniture, silverware and books were on display within -the dusty, ill-kept windows; past lending libraries; past a little -half-street with quiet, mysterious houses; past streets that wandered -helplessly about until, faced with some busy thoroughfare, they paused -abruptly, bewildered, and of necessity came to their end. There was one -street built like a dagger, with a single row of trees across it for -its hilt. There were crooked streets, dirty streets, smart streets; -streets attempting to be gay and failing miserably; streets falling over -themselves; scrambled streets; streets running pell-mell at last into -Greenwich Square. - -The Exhibit centered around Eighth Street and meandered, after various -aimless shambles, along MacDougal Street and into the somewhat limited -security of MacDougal Alley. Countless easels which held oils or studies -in crayon, finished or unfinished, were scattered about the sidewalks. -Odd bits of craftsmanship hung on the walls of buildings or were placed -for sale on the curbs. Caricaturists and cut-out artists in their batik -smocks were hawking their talents to the crowd, not with the loud, -raucous voices of sideshow barkers at a fair, but with proud and careful -gestures, and an occasional remark about art in general which most of the -crowd took seriously. - -At the end of MacDougal Alley a hard, slim man who looked like Popeye was -daubing wildly at his canvas. Martin grinned and pulled Deane back by her -elbow, stopping her suddenly. - -“Look at that old boy,” he said under his breath, all his melancholy -abstraction leaving him in an instant. “He’s mad as a hatter, and -dreaming of a Dutch ship he took one time out of Sumatra. See, honey?” -Martin grew more excited and pointed to the painting. “She’s built -like a sabot—equally stable in the North Sea or the South Pacific. The -Hollanders knew how!” He nodded wisely. “By God! I have a little of their -blood in my own veins,” he continued with pride. “The painting’s bad. But -the thing’s there, all right. The man has memories.” He jigged Deane’s -arm again. “I’m going to tell the old chap I’m a steamship man. Watch -him blow up. _He_ never sailed under anything but canvas.” - -Deane grew concerned. - -“Don’t make him angry, Martin,” she said, holding back. - -“I won’t. Come on, darling,” and pulling her after him, he walked up -casually behind the old seaman. - -“Ah!” said Martin, as though speaking to Deane, “_there’s_ a fine ship!” - -“Ye don’t know her stem from her stern,” said the painter, turning round -to observe the speaker, then dabbing a ferocious spot of sea under his -ship’s bow. - -“She’s beautiful,” insisted Martin. “That is—she would be, if she had -just a touch of steam.” He paused for a second. “There’s nothing like -steam in a calm, or if you need a head in the wind.” - -The brush dropped out of the painter’s hand and his face turned the color -of brick. - -“Steam!” he snorted. “_I_ went round the Horn with just me hat spread, -boy!” He picked up his brush, wiped it carefully and jabbed at the canvas -again. “I took me own ship round the Cape durin’ a gale! There was less -time than you’ll get in your liner—and it gave me a belly at fifty -_you’ll_ never see at thirty!” - -Martin nodded. - -“Canvas had its points, all right,” he agreed. - -“Steam!” repeated the old master scornfully, not in the least mollified, -and spat upon the ground. - -“Well,” persisted Martin, “I wish I could have tried your square-riggers. -I never quite trusted steam, myself.” His voice sounded a little -regretful. - -The old master looked at him, suspicion in his eyes. Suddenly he stepped -nearer and brought his face up close to Martin’s. - -“Do ye know where the Scylla Deeps be?” he asked mysteriously. - -“A sea no sailor has found, sir,” answered Martin. - -The old master continued to peer at him with mistrust. - -“Where did me best rope hang, boy?” - -“From the yardarm, sir.” Martin gave him a slow smile. “And it’s not all -that hung from there, sir,” he added, knowingly. - -The master’s face turned into a series of amused lines and crevices. He -grabbed Martin’s arm and his white lips puckered into laughter. - -“If I could’ve had ye as cabin boy, me lad, ye might’ve made a -sailor!—But no more steamship gab!” he warned, shaking his finger. He -turned once more to the painting. “Now ain’t she a beauty?” He pointed -with pride to the ship and over his ravaged face came a sorrowful and -faraway expression. “She was trim as a herring,” he said, so low they -could scarcely hear. “Trim as a herring, me boy.” - -Martin spoke soberly, with an infinite respect. - -“She was, sir. And she is. I’m glad you’re bringing her alive.” - -The old master stared at him. His eyes seemed flaked with salt and he -brushed one rough hand across them. - -Martin took Deane’s arm once more. - -“Good-by, sir. A good trip, sir,” he said, pulling Deane along. But the -old master just kept staring as the two walked away. - -“Why did he look like that?” Deane whispered, her own eyes full of tears. - -“That ship went down, honey—and the master, also,” answered Martin. - -On the next corner, standing in an erect, unnatural posture, was a man -with a full red beard. In one hand the man held a comb which occasionally -he used on his chin with a gesture at once contemptuous and desperate. -In the other hand there was a ragged paper upon which something was -written—and this, he wore as though it were a part of him. When any -passed too close he would draw back the manuscript, hastily covering the -words, the beer stains and perhaps tears with his palm. His bold chin -under its red blanket would jut angrily; he would hunch his shoulders, -and his eyes, which were a little blurred, would narrow in agony and -hatred. Martin, ashamed for all mankind that it had shamed this artist -and his work, walked by with an impassive glance, understanding full well -the torment of beauty which must be held within itself. But the man, -sensing some kinship within Martin, or feeling some belligerent contempt, -held out to him the sheaf of paper containing all the golden words born -of himself in adoration, hunger and distrust. His speech was rapid, -barely articulate. - -“Twenty-five cents, _sir_?” he called out mockingly. “A block of my heart -for twenty-five cents!” - -Deane pressed against Martin and he knew that she was frightened. He -tried, without speaking, to tell her not to be, and walked on with a -strolling deliberation, eyes ahead without expression, minimizing as far -as possible the high chain of laughter behind them. He visualized the -rotten teeth—the long hysteria—— - -And then they came upon a flower man, a small Sicilian with an olive skin -and a charming, wistful face. He was standing by his little cart, his -hands down by his side as though in a mild passion with his lot among the -flowers. There were cornflowers and mignonette; crisp French marigolds -and early cosmos. Deane made her choice. - -“Buy me the marigolds,” she asked of Martin. “You remember?—they were -your first gift to me.” - -The little olive gentleman bowed and smiled; and carefully selecting the -freshest marigolds from his stock, twisted a strip of tinfoil around -their stems before handing them to Deane. - -Shortly after they left him, Deane looked back. He was standing by -his little cart, still smiling, his hands down by his side in gentle -obsequiousness. - -Touched deeply by this profound and infinite patience, Deane thought -of all the things she had seen that day—one man with a phantom ship, -one with a poem, and one—She glanced sideways at Martin, and suddenly, -unnoticed by him, the tiny bunch of marigolds which she was clutching -fell from her grasp.... - -Later, in the soft candlelight within the apartment, Martin sat on the -arm of Deane’s chair, quietly twisting the ring upon his finger. The -small red stone on its field of black looked at him speculatively. The -tender perception which had been Deane’s all that evening now gave way to -a definite and fearful prescience. - -“What is it, darling?” she asked, for Martin had not spoken in some time. - -“I love you,” he said simply. - -“I love you, too. But what disturbs you, Martin?” - -He avoided her eyes. - -“It was only a dream,” he said at last. “But it has worried me. I dreamt -I died and found myself at the crossroads of Heaven and Hell—there to -make my decision as to which path I should walk.” - -“What? A dream—worry you?” Deane sighed with relief and ran her hand -across his cheek. Then she arose and led him to the divan. One by one the -candles had gone out and like a specter, the pallid light of the full -summer moon crept into the apartment. “Go on, my darling,” she whispered, -half closing her eyes and stretching luxuriously against him. - -“I died,” he repeated. “And I found myself at the crossroads of Heaven -and Hell. I was undecided as to which road to take. Then suddenly I knew -the answer. I knew they diverged only for a time.” - -“What do you mean?” In Deane’s voice was a note of dismay. - -“I knew that whichever road I took, it would end in pain.” - -“Oh, no!” - -“Yes, I knew that the end would be the same; so, impudently, I took the -road marked HEAVEN. I walked for days among winding mountain paths. -Giant trees sang to me in the wind, and the air was fragrant with pine -and wild rose. Little creeks ran past me, twisting over mossy rocks; and -there were narrow falls of water spinning white and silver. In shadowy -places where the water eddied dark green and gold, I stopped to rest and -drink. A long time I walked through this country. By day, the sun struck -blindly through the limbs of trees; and at night, a moon showed. Then I -came to a valley where I saw broad fields of grain, shining yellow, and -checkerboards of green pasture and plowed field. I was confused by the -intermittent sound of bells which rang through the air. - -“On one block of green pasture there was a great multitude. I went down -the trail, leaving the forest behind, and descended into the lowland. -As I approached the congregation, I saw to my amazement that they were -all children. I wondered at their quietness. They were so silent and -unmoving that I would have thought them dead had it not been that they -were facing me, a sweet, desperate expression on their faces. The macabre -quality in these little ones gave me an unpleasant thrill. No murmur -sounded from this congress of children—no movement of arm, knee or head. - -“Full of a presentiment of evil, I walked closer and looked down into -their eyes. Row after row of these spectral organisms were before me, -reaching, it seemed, to the horizon. Thousands of bright, curly heads -shone faintly in the haze of the sun. Their wide eyes, blue or brown, -were directed at me. - -“My mouth was hot. I tried to smile. - -“‘Have I reached Heaven?’ I asked them. - -“The answer seemed to be projected from a thousand throats, but it -reached my ears as a whisper. This tired wind, blowing so, held only -compassion. It was unbearable. And it said—‘We love you.’” - -Martin’s face became severe and rigid as he told this. - -“Go on, Martin,” Deane urged. - -“I can’t.” - -“It was a dream, Martin. Finish the dream.” - -“It was destiny!” he cried. “I murdered ten thousand innocents! I asked -them if I was in Heaven, and they answered that they loved me. To -wheedle, to coax a smile into their weakening, passive faces, I asked a -question.... - -“They told me that they loved me,” Martin repeated tiredly, and once -more, Deane felt a prescience of terror. - -“I wanted to raise my hand,” Martin went on. “I wanted to shout, to -jump into the air, to sing a song—anything to dissipate the irrevocable -impression of death that carved each face into the appearance of a dying -flower. - -“I was desperate and I felt that I was wrong. - -“‘Children,’ I said, ‘I have hurt you. Tell me the poison, the action, or -the mood that has brought you this pain.’ - -“I can’t explain how they looked. It wasn’t sadness, nor was it -condemnation. It was a death’s joke and I was horrified. Again the wind -of their minds moved restlessly in my ears. - -“‘Pain you prophesied,’ it said. - -“‘It was a prophecy of pain for myself,’ I told them. ‘I didn’t mean to -condemn you.’ - -“This time,” said Martin, “there was no answer; no audible answer. But -for the first time the children moved, dropping gently on their knees. -They lowered their eyelids, accentuating the pallor of their faces. - -“I cried out to them. I begged their forgiveness. I cursed myself, tore -open my shirt and looked for a weapon, reasoning that my death would -bring life to the children.” - -As Martin said this, he caught his breath and projected a swift pain -into the woman. Deane held him gladly—drawing in his venom—half fainting. - -But Martin, pressing deeper into his mind, continued furiously. - -“At each of my gestures—at each syllable, the children sank closer to the -grass. Their eyes closed with precision until only the fringe of lash -showed where the eyes had been. Watching this slow death of thousands, -I stopped speaking and stood rigid, my jaws locked. I glared at them. I -saw each movement become fainter until each tortured flower-face lay on -the ground, their chins propped up to me. Their cheeks were like wilted -petals, their white, reedy arms were extended above them, and each -child-finger was pointed toward me.” - -Martin stopped speaking. Deane lay quiet within his arms. She felt -his face against her throat, felt her own arms pinioned and her agony -intensified. Compassionately she kissed the thick perspiration from his -forehead. - - - - -_CHAPTER XXIV_ - - -Martin pushed his chair away from the linotype, waiting for copy. He -leaned back and spoke to Rio who was sitting on the windowsill behind him. - -“Smell that sulphur?” - -“Yeah.” - -“It’s from the plant across the way. Gets sweet about this time every -night. You’ve probably noticed it before.” - -“It don’t make no difference,” said Rio. “This is one hell of a place any -way you look at it. Noise and dirt.” He spat out the window. - -Martin yawned and stretched in his chair, but made no answer. - -“It ain’t no place for me,” continued Rio grimly. “Some of the boys look -restless. Is it the strike you’re worryin’ about?” - -“The strike may not come off, Rio. There’s always a lot of talk. And if -it does, it’s no worse than the waterfront.” - -“Well, anyway, I’m goin’ out for a smoke.” Rio walked into the little -hallway, calling back over the banisters to Martin to find out how much -longer he had to wait. - -Martin glanced at his watch. - -“I’ll be through in twenty minutes,” he said. “We can stop down the -street for a nightcap.” - -“I’ll be outside,” Rio mumbled, and went on down the stairs. - -He was sitting on the steps when Martin joined him. His huge frame filled -the doorway and as he arose lazily, Martin wondered, as he had wondered -many times before, at the harmony of his movements. - -Far beyond the reaches of the sulphur fumes, the soft tread of these men, -accustomed as they were to the intricate, woven fabric of the sea, made -scarcely a sound in the night. - -Rio sniffed. - -“New York,” he said, as they walked along. “It smells different this time -of year.” - -And Martin, through his friend, felt a definite, new motion in the -color of the air—a deliberate music brought by the full season. In both -retrospect and in the moment, Martin watched Huysmans, that frightened -older brother, break the skyline into small patches of dim lights between -the darkened buildings. - -So still was the atmosphere that the two friends felt annoyed at the -sight of a lighted tavern. But they stopped in for a drink nevertheless, -then went on slowly toward Martin’s rooming house. - -“Say, Martin,” said Rio finally. “I been thinkin’ over that act you -pulled with Roberts. I don’t get it.” He laughed. “It’s funny, though.” - -“It really wasn’t an act,” replied Martin. - -Rio looked at him through the darkness. - -“You mean——” - -“Good Lord, no!” interrupted Martin. “I’ll admit, it’s difficult to -understand—even for me. But the way he stood, the way he smiled, and -his new threat (remember, he’s carried them out before!) made me break -loose. I kept thinking, as I looked at him, that he’d always asked me for -something that he didn’t want. When I called him, I must have known he -wasn’t real. For when I pretended a consummation he was frightened and -ashamed.” - -Rio shook his head. - -“You’re a brave lad. It makes me sick to think about it.” - -Martin’s tone was peculiar. - -“I was poisonous,” he said. - -Rio looked at him again and shrugged his shoulders. - -“Well, I guess it cured him.” - -Martin thought a moment. - -“I don’t know. I suppose that when it comes down to it I don’t understand -him at all.... By the way, Rio, what made him take such a dislike to you?” - -“Nothin’ much. I asked him about you once and when I found out he lied, -I shook him up.” Rio closed his fist in the dark. “I wish I’d shook ’im -harder now,” he added, half under his breath. - -“Damn it! That’s the pay-off!” said Martin angrily. - -Rio turned to him. - -“If you mean you’re fed up messin’ with this queer outfit, I’m with -you.” He began to walk more rapidly. “I wish to God I was back——” - -Martin interrupted. - -“I know. Sometimes I wish we were at sea again.” - -“What about Deane?” asked Rio. - -Martin’s voice was as even as his steps. - -“I wouldn’t mention her name, Rio,” he said. “We never think about a -little thing like that the first time.” His voice was trembling now. “But -I wouldn’t ever see her, or mention her name again.” - -They walked along Eighth Street without speaking for a few blocks until -Rio turned to his friend. - -“Is that all you’re goin’ to say?” he asked. - -“Yes.” - -“I’m a miserable bastard, Martin. I wish I was in Santa de Marina. By -God!—I think I’ll go.” - -Rio sounded so unusually plaintive that Martin had to laugh. - -“I don’t blame you. Why don’t you return to the family? Your money won’t -last them forever and you could make out all right down there.” - -They had reached Washington Square and were about to turn down Martin’s -street when Rio stopped him. - -“Let’s go in and sit down for awhile, buddy. There’s a few things I’d -like to ask you.” - -Martin walked beside him until they came to the large circular rim of -the fountain. They sat down on the low concrete wall and Rio put out -his cigarette, grinding it under his heel on the pavement. It seemed -difficult for him to speak. - -“Y’know,” he said, finally, “I been around more than most men. I been -places and seen funny practices, and ugly ones, among the heathen. And I -know Berlin better’n I do New York. The same goes for a few other cities. -I thought I’d scraped most people and most happenin’s. Then I had the -luck of bumpin’ into you.” - -“Good, or bad?” asked Martin. - -“Bad, I guess, or I’d have missed it.” - -“Why bad?” - -“Well, because I had a few ideas that I believed in. Somehow, you’ve -managed to mess ’em up.” - -“That’s all right,” said Martin, emphasizing his words with a quick -movement of his hand. “If you were on a weak foundation you shouldn’t -mind having your opinions reversed. If you had a strong one I couldn’t -change it.” - -“It ain’t one or the other,” said Rio in disgust. “You can take an idea, -right or wrong, and squeeze it like butter.” His tone grew deeper and -Martin felt that he was frowning in the semi-darkness. “I’m goin’ to ask -you a question, Martin. Don’t get sore; and I don’t mean it hard. But I -got to know. We’ve kidded each other a lot since we met. You stood by -me—” Rio’s voice faltered. He swallowed and stopped for a moment. Martin -could hear his heavy breathing. - -“Get rid of it, Rio,” he said. - -“It’s god-damned crazy,” said Rio, swearing to hide his embarrassment. -“But listen, Martin. Are you——” - -Martin half closed his eyes. - -“Oh,” he thought. He watched his friend struggling through this viscous -medium in a painful attempt to absorb most of its ugliness himself. But -he gave the man no clue, no help. He merely closed his eyes tighter and -listened. - -“Are you—” continued Rio. Then, his voice stronger and more demanding, -“Are you a god-damned fairy with your god-damned eyes and the way you -look at people? You looked queer in that draggy dress at the party, -and you acted queer.” Rio hesitated. “Oh, I know you took care of me -afterward. But when I seen you leanin’ on the piano like a girl, I went -crazy. If you’re a queen, tell me!” His voice had become so husky that he -could scarcely speak. “And if you ain’t—what are you? Let me know. Let me -know damned fast!” He was breathing still harder and Martin could hear -his hands rubbing against the concrete. - -He slipped off the side of the fountain and faced Rio. In the quiet -night, without a moon, the open stars drew their icy shine across his -eyes. He lit a cigarette and in the brief flare, Rio could see the drawn -lips, the contemptuous silhouette and the sharp lines in his face. - -“Time doesn’t count, Rio. Kindly don’t be in a hurry.” Martin spoke -softly. “And remember, I’m talking about myself and not you, so don’t be -anxious. You’ve asked me a question in your manner, and I’ll answer it in -your manner, Rio. I am.” - -“Damn you, you’re not!” Rio cried out. - -“Then it’s for you to judge.” - -“I don’t judge nothin’, Martin,” said Rio, standing and facing him. “But -if you ain’t, why d’you hang around them?” - -“‘Them’?” asked Martin, with a bleak smile. “If you could see yourself -standing there, frightened of yourself, frightened of me, frightened of -symbols——” - -“I tell you, I’m not like that!” interrupted Rio, his hands back of him. - -“Perhaps you are,” said Martin quietly. - -“Clear that up.” Rio was leaning slightly forward in dignified, yet -dangerously immobile restraint. “Clear that up fast.” - -Martin spoke earnestly, without resentment. - -“Before you ever ask another man that question, Rio, go to the mirror and -ask it of yourself. Perhaps the answer will be—‘thou, too’!” - -Rio kept the same tense attitude. - -“You mean _I_ am?” he asked slowly. “You better explain it well this -time. Show me your point.” - -Martin looked at him indifferently. - -“You asked me, didn’t you, if I was queer; and although you’re deathly -afraid of it yourself, you hold such people in contempt. Did you think I -was going to deny it as though it were intrinsically a shameful thing?” - -“You say it ain’t shameful?” said Rio, not changing his position. - -“It exists,” went on Martin calmly. “It’s part of life. It has its -particular and its important position in the world. It has its stages and -its stratas. Thus it is, Rio—this force was created.” - -“Created for what?” demanded Rio. “For nightmares?” He wiped away the -sweat from his forehead. - -“No,” said Martin. “Created for balance.” - -“‘Balance,’ hell!—those upside down bastards?” - -“I didn’t say they were balanced. I don’t know that, because I don’t know -where the average begins or ends. I said they were created for balance. A -necessary people forming a resilient salient between the rigidity of the -sexes.” - -“I don’t see it,” said Rio heavily. - -“Don’t bother, then,” said Martin. “And don’t make an issue of it. -I’ve looked at Carol and seen the reason, the essential purpose of his -destiny.” - -“Go on,” said Rio. - -“And I’ve looked at Drew,” Martin continued. “He made me wonder what the -word ‘normal’ meant.” - -“God, you’re crazy,” whispered Rio. - -“I’ve looked at Roberts,” confessed Martin, “until his helpless, sick -desire forced me into desperation, and I tasted the germ of his too -bright mouth.” - -“God!” repeated Rio, horrified. - -“And I’ve looked at you,” went on Martin. - -“Yeah?” breathed Rio, straining forward. - -“And I became less blind.” - -Rio’s heavy shoe scraped the pavement. - -“And I’ve looked at myself,” said Martin, lifting his voice. And still -more firmly, “I’ve looked at all of us and found us all so different—and -yet so much the same.” - -“Holy Christ,” said Rio softly. - -“Aye,” Martin nodded. “Holy Christ.” - -They left the park and walked on silently, each thinking more of the -other’s thoughts than of his own. A wind from the south, carrying a -burned, sulphurous cloud, quickly hid the stars and descended until -even the solitary street lamps were darkened, became ominous and were -worse than none at all. It muffled the occasional sounds of late night -and was as forbidding as the attitude of these two silent men; for -except themselves, the streets were deserted, and their presence only -accentuated the desolation. It was a moment of such stillness that even -nature becomes disturbed and ultimately furious, and sharply moving her -wing, brings down a sudden and a violent sound. - -A block away from Martin’s room an ambulance rushed past them, its siren -full and piercing. It drew up quickly before the house and an ambulance -doctor with white cap and trousers bent over a man who was lying on the -curb. A thin group of spectators had gathered. They were quiet, looking -on curiously. Martin’s landlady was standing by, shivering and crying. -Martin went to her and touched her arm. - -“What is it, Mrs. O’Brien?” he asked. - -“I don’t know, Mr. Devaud,” sobbed the woman. “I heard a noise. I guess -it was a shot. So I looked out the window and there he was.” - -Martin hurried back to Rio. - -“What does it look like?” he asked nervously. “I can’t see.” - -Rio struck a match. - -“I dunno. He can’t get no pulse.” - -The doctor was still kneeling between them and the figure. At last, -he moved to one side and opened the man’s shirt, throwing a point of -light on a small, discolored spot under the heart. The man’s face was -in bas-relief. But above the wound, in a broken curve, lay a delicate, -golden necklace.... - -Martin leaned over swiftly and started to speak; but Rio stepped in front -of him. - -“The guy’s dead, eh, Doc?” he asked solicitously, glaring at Martin all -the while over his shoulder. - -“Get back,” said the doctor brusquely, to the crowd. Then he called out -to the driver. “Come on, Jim. Lend a hand.” - -Rio took Martin by the arm and they walked up the steps quickly. - -“You god-damned fool,” Rio kept whispering to him. “You god-damned fool. -Keep your god-damned mouth shut.” - -In Martin’s room they sat down and faced each other. Rio continued to -swear at him. - -“So there you are,” he said mockingly. “Carol’s knocked off and you want -to butt in.” - -“Oh, for Christ’s sake, shut up!” said Martin miserably. Then seeing the -expression on Rio’s face, he went over to him and put his hand on his -shoulder. “I didn’t mean that, Rio. I know well enough you saved me a lot -of trouble out there. I’m just trying to figure it out.” - -“Don’t be so dumb,” said Rio, and put his cap on backwards. - -“Yes. It must have been Roberts. I suppose that’s what he meant when he -said he had proposed something. I knew it. I was slow. Damn him. Why?” - -“Why not? Carol was in his way,” said Rio philosophically. - -Martin stood up. - -“Rio!” He spoke swiftly. His voice was harsh and a terrible light burned -in his eyes. - -“Take it easy,” Rio answered calmly. “He won’t hurt Deane to-night. He’s -weak, some ways. This one job’s enough for his stomach this time. He’s in -bed—cracked up. Puking his guts out. But later, I dunno.” Rio was growing -thoughtful. - -“How did he get away with this, Rio?” - -“He’s a clever son-of-a-bitch.” - -“Clever?” repeated Martin. “I wonder.” He moved toward the door. “Rio, -I’m going to see him.” - -Rio went to his friend and held his arm. - -“Don’t stick your chin out, Martin,” he said earnestly. “Maybe I got an -idea myself.” He righted his cap, and without further explanation left -the room. - -Martin pulled up the rocker in front of his small radio which he turned -on softly. There, his head in his hands, he sat and rocked until morning. -Then he took a train uptown to Deane’s. - - - - -_CHAPTER XXV_ - - -Roberts woke up with a sticky feeling in his mouth. He felt his wrist. It -was still throbbing. With difficulty he repressed a sudden panic brought -about by his full consciousness of this last and most horrible link -forged in the confused entries of his life. He got up, put his feet in -a pair of slippers and went to the mirror. He stuck out his tongue and -looked at it carefully. Walking away, he stopped suddenly and glanced -over his shoulder at himself. Then he rang for his breakfast and went -into the bathroom. - -Although he was accustomed to this pale Orient, an atmosphere of -mauve with the suggestion of a darker tone enhanced by lights, direct -and indirect, it seemed to stimulate him now as though it were a new -experience. He took a crystal flagon from its glass shelf and shook the -bottle slightly, watching the opalescent liquid as hungrily as though he -were going to drink it. Removing the stopper, he closed his eyes and drew -in a deep breath, shivering; and as an afterthought, carefully shook two -drops upon his fingers and rubbed them into his temples. The astonishing -scent filled the bathroom and Roberts leaned against the wall as the -odor of stable frost arose about him. Slowly, he removed his pajamas, -white as his skin, and let them fall around his feet. The warm water -from the shower sprayed off his head. He stuck out his tongue again and -swallowed a little of the water. It tasted salty and he spat out what was -left. After a careless shave he put on a dressing gown of deep red corded -silk, and staring vacantly, sat down in front of the coffee table in his -living room. - -The boy knocked and entered with his breakfast. - -“My paper?” Roberts looked up inquiringly. - -“Yes, sir. It’s on your tray, sir,” answered the boy. - -“That’s right, my lad. Always a paper with one’s eggs.” The adviser -laughed sententiously. - -The boy put down the tray. - -“Will that be all, sir?” - -Roberts looked up again, severely. - -“Is that all? Most certainly. Do I ever digress from this routine?” - -“No, sir,” said the boy and left. - -Roberts mused, his lips spasmodically making little ticking sounds. - -“Is that all? What else could he want? The scamp—he acted as if he knew -something. A pretty lot _he_ could know—or anybody, for that matter.” -The adviser looked around the room, smiling shrewdly. There was a single -scarlet geranium on his tray. He picked it up with a caress and held it -briefly under his nose before he tore off the petals. Then he looked at -his eggs. - -“Cold, as usual,” he said bitterly. “And what’s this?—a spot?” He put -his spoon into the eggs. “The nucleus, no doubt. Good heavens!—does -fertilization confront me even in my breakfast?” He tried to control his -anger and nibbled at a piece of bacon and toast. The hot, black coffee he -drank greedily. - -A short article at the bottom of the front page of his paper attracted -his attention. He read through it swiftly. A murder in Greenwich Village. -He smiled again, this time his right eye winking slightly. - -“Definitely a bad neighborhood, Mrs. Twitchett,” he said amiably. “People -who go down there must expect such things, my dear.” Then, with a start, -he brought himself up. “You ass!” He spoke harshly to himself. “You -giggling, impossible hermaphrodite! Hush!” But unable to repress his -amusement he laughed aloud, pressing his finger to his lips secretively. -After awhile he picked up the paper again. “What was the name? ... -Carol?... Yes, Carol Stevens. A young chap, so the papers say. But he’ll -be a long time down there. It will bring maturity.... Unfortunately, -he might be connected with Martin Devaud? That would be scandalous.” -Before the smile reappeared on Roberts’ face he looked at the article -once more. Certainly, it would not involve himself. Being merely decent -to a homespun lad like that. There couldn’t be any connection there.... -He spoke aloud again. “There isn’t any connection, you bloated bunch of -rags! You confounded, grayish bunch of rags! This is the time of year to -remain in one’s own department.” - -He went to the desk and took a sheet of paper. Meticulously he wrote: - - To the Police: - - Using a small caliber automatic and under the pretense of - friendship I approached and shot Carol Stevens. The motive was - jealousy. - - Signed: - - William Roberts. - -He permitted a slight smile. Then, taking a box of matches out of his -pocket he struck one and lit a corner of the paper. After the note had -burned he dropped the ashes into the wastebasket. - -He took another piece of paper and wrote the same message, stood up and -looked at it from a distance, taking his eyes away from it at intervals, -for a second at a time. Then he picked up the paper, and waving it -around, walked to the other end of the room. After a few moments he -walked back, humming, and slowly burned it, too. - -Again he wrote the message. This time he left the room. A moment later -his face appeared in the doorway. It was tense as he walked rapidly to -the desk. But when he saw the message, undisturbed, he smiled again. -He picked it up, crumpled it into a ball and threw it across the room. -Leaping after it and retrieving it with a desperate, sweeping motion, he -unrolled it with quivering fingers. Hastily he read the words and again -the satisfied smile lessened the tension on his face. Then he rolled -the paper once more and walked to the inside wall. He stood with his -back to the room for a long time, at last throwing the wadded note as -far over his shoulder as he could, one hand covering his eyes. Turning -around, he looked on the floor. The paper was not there. He began to -walk back and forth swiftly, looking on the divan, on the chairs. The -message was not to be seen. Finally he stopped in the center of the room, -a curiously stupid expression on his face. He felt slightly dizzy and -the room seemed to be turning. He walked hesitatingly to a chair, his -titubation increasing. Leaning over the chair, he looked at the room from -this angle. The paper had apparently vanished. He felt his pulse and was -alarmed by its rapid beat. In an attitude of half-fear, half-anger, he -went hurriedly over the room again, lifting the pillows from the divan -and from the chairs. Then he went to a mirror and looked at himself. -The pupils of his eyes were large and startling, set in a pale, grayish -face lined with anxiety. Panic-stricken, he ran to his clothescloset and -took down another dressing robe. This he hung over the mirror in the -living room. Animal-like, he fell to his knees, and crawling around the -floor, peered under the fringe of the rug. His shoulder bumped against -a chair and he tipped it over angrily. His movements became more and -more frenzied. At last each article had been closely inspected, and -still there was no message. He ran to the door and locked it securely. -Suddenly, he looked at the window. It was open. He drew his hand across -his forehead which was covered with perspiration. His knees trembled. He -sat down abruptly, the upset furniture swaying around him. - -Within this desperate sense of fear he quickly regained his balance. -He went to the buffet and drank a small brandy. Unsteadily, but -seriously, he dressed. He started to leave the room, hesitated, and as -an afterthought went to the window. He leaned out and looked down at the -alley-like space between the buildings. Unable to distinguish anything, -he closed the window, went out into the hall and rang for the elevator. - -Downstairs, he crossed the court, climbed over a low fence and walked -down the space under his window. One crumpled white paper drew his -attention, but it was an empty cigarette package. Toward the sidewalk he -saw another wadded paper. People were passing close by and he picked it -up self-consciously, not daring to hope that it was the one he wanted. -Walking back to the court he opened it feverishly. His eye caught the -first line. It said, “To the Police:—” He read no further, but jammed -the note hastily, though carefully, into his pocket and folded his hand -around it. - -In his apartment, came the reaction. He lay on his back on the upset -divan, his hand still gripped around the paper, and wept softly and -bitterly. When he had stopped shaking he went to the desk, smoothed out -the paper and read it, a definite horror on his face. Then anger relieved -his fear and he struck the note repeatedly with his fist. Throwing it -into the metal wastebasket, he tossed burning matches after it until the -confessional was alight with flames. Methodically he straightened the -room and took the robe from the mirror. Looking into the glass, he held -out his hand and with amazing swiftness struck the side of his face. - -Later, in the bathroom, he saw with satisfaction the purple outline of -his fingers on his cheek. - - - - -_CHAPTER XXVI_ - - -Deane answered the telephone nervously. A voice, thin and unsteady, came -over the wire. - -“Deane? This is Roberts.” - -With difficulty Deane restrained a sudden feeling of panic. - -The adviser spoke quickly, without waiting for her acknowledgment. - -“This is rather unusual, but I assure you the situation is imperative -enough to justify its obvious lack of convention.” - -Deane’s anxiety increased. - -“What situation, Roberts?” she asked. - -“A situation so delicate that its discussion by phone is impossible. -Won’t you do me the kindness to have dinner with me?” Roberts’ voice had -taken on a strange, beseeching quality. - -Thoroughly frightened by the implication of drama, Deane tried to -remember that she had once been attracted by his intelligence, amused at -his suavity. She accepted his invitation. - -What could he want of her? She was glad that Martin had gone home. -He would never let her meet Roberts if he knew. She recalled how -frightfully upset Martin had been that morning. - -While she was dressing she kept wondering what urgency had prompted the -adviser to contact her so quickly after the tragedy. Surely no guilty man -would do such a thing. Perhaps Martin and Rio were wrong. Perhaps Roberts -wanted to help.... Did he know about that picture of Martin the police -had found in Carol’s pocket? Thank God, Martin had had an alibi. Or—did -alibis really count!... Poor Carol! Was she responsible for his death? It -was true that she had introduced him into this ill-assorted group of men -who, more experienced in the conflicting currents of human emotion, could -anticipate and often avoid such danger. She remembered little phrases and -gestures of Carol which in retrospect seemed touching and child-like. She -remembered the day she had gone to lunch with him—his earnest, immature -face as he reflected the thoughts and effusions of this man whom she was -meeting. What blindness of hers that she had not foreseen an approximate -outcome of this relationship! Deane’s eyes were full of tears. She -felt the tremendous sorrow of the immaculate woman for the spikes and -chains which bind humanity’s certified incompetents. Too, for herself, -there were tears of indignation—resentment over being drawn into this -formidable unity. She finished dressing and hurried uptown. - - * * * * * - -In the restaurant, Roberts leaned slightly forward, over the table, his -hands together. - -“Deane,” he said, “I didn’t ask you to meet me because of Carol’s -tragedy. The child was drawn into a significantly dangerous vortex. But -it is about this uncompromising whirlpool itself, which may engulf others -whom I love, that I want to speak. There is something here—some sinister -thing about us that is in deadly earnest. Do you sense it, Deane?” - -“Yes, Roberts. Particularly now.” - -“Martin,” continued the adviser, “does not appreciate the undercurrent of -this danger. It is for this reason—for this one reason I begged you to -see me.” - -“Yes,” Deane repeated, feeling her skin tighten as it does under a great -and hopeless fear. - -“I have but one thought in mind—” Roberts proceeded, “Martin’s future. -His temperament is one that will not adjust itself to the inevitable.” - -Deane’s hand closed over her bag. A swift feeling of revulsion changed as -quickly to one of anger. - -“The inevitable?” she asked, controlling her voice. - -“Yes,” said Roberts. “The inevitable routine of this world. I have -it on good authority that he is about to lose his job at Miller’s -Typographical. You know his history. He came to me a transient—a common -seaman. I found him a good job. I made contacts for him in this respect -which he used, or rather abused, with an amazing recklessness. I do not -understand his lack of appreciation. But these things are unimportant. -Regardless of his inconsideration, I feel that there is definitely -something worth saving.” - -“That’s good of you, Roberts,” said Deane, inclining her head a little, -the large hat shading her eyes. “Martin would be pleased to know that you -consider his regeneration a possibility.” - -Roberts’ lips tightened at her irony. His fingers moved constantly over -the white tablecloth, touching a cup—a spoon—— - -“I appeal to you, Deane,” he said finally. “I recognize your influence -over him.” - -She remained silent. - -“Have you no answer?” he asked. - -“Of course not.” Deane’s moist, red lips closed tightly. - -Roberts picked up a spoon and tapped it nervously on the table. - -“I have always respected your antagonism, Deane, but I am somewhat -unprepared, just now, to face a personal issue. By coöperating with me, -I feel that we can bring about some satisfactory adjustment on the part -of Martin that will give him success and happiness.” The adviser waited, -quiet and intent. - -Deane’s eyes paled, the color fading into clearness. She looked at -Roberts abstractedly. To her it seemed that an unhealthy whiteness moved -now under his skin. His handsome face seemed trembling, disintegrating -and forming anew, misshapen under the pressure of his mind. His -cheeks appeared alive with white nerve roots, moving uncertainly, like -microscopic serpents. The lens of Deane’s eyes penetrated through flesh -into the dark coils of blood, visualizing curiously the spiraling, pallid -germ. - -Roberts jerked in his chair. He leaned sideways, holding to the table. -His cuff brushed a tumbler and a little of the water spilled upon the -cloth. - -“Deane!” He spoke sharply. “What are you looking at?” - -Her eyes grew deeper, lost their transparency. - -“I was wondering.” - -Roberts’ voice trembled. His words were insecure. - -“You were wondering.... You were wondering at what? What are you looking -at?” - -Deane took her eyes from him. - -“Please go on, Roberts.” - -He hesitated. - -“I was saying—I was saying that you have a remarkable influence over -Martin. Doubtless he has told you of our early misunderstanding—a -misunderstanding based on the assumption that I was instrumental in -having him fired. As an intelligent woman you are probably aware of the -fact that he lost his position because he neglected his work. He is not -incompetent, but his social program affected his efficiency.” - -Deane spoke without looking at him. - -“Do you mean that I caused Martin to lose his position?” Her lack of -resentment, her cold, unemotional question disconcerted the adviser -momentarily. - -“Indeed not,” he answered. “Please believe that I have valued and -approved his friendships for certain people. Martin tends toward -introspection and celibacy. It is most important that he cultivate the -social quality. That is why I was so astonished that he should, of a -sudden, become so interested in what constitutes society.” - -“I do not constitute society, Roberts. I love him.” - -Roberts lifted his eyebrows. - -“Deane,” he said anxiously, “I hope that you do not believe that I have -intended to invade your personal affairs. I am concerned only with -Martin’s development. I truly desire his life to be a complete and happy -one.” - -“Then please tell me what you want.” Deane made an uneasy little gesture. - -For one lost moment, Roberts’ pallid cheeks were covered as though by the -light of a beautiful, dark flame and he leaned across the table with a -desperate, hopeless lust. - -“You know what I want, Deane. _You have always known._” Now, he was -breathless and the color left his face, leaving him whiter and more -distraught than before. - -Deane sat erect. There was more than anger in her expression. There -was the fury and the cruelty of all her sex against what she believed -to be the pitiful, crippled shade of themselves—against the mist of -a forever-damned kinship which thought as woman thought, desired -with woman’s desire, and still was mist, without substance, without -gratification. Deane’s voice was barely audible. - -“Never,” she whispered. - -At her expression and her exclamation, Roberts wet his lips and trembled -slightly in his chair, gazing at her as though in some enchantment. - -“Never?” he asked, in a voice as low as her own, but with the quality of -a protesting and bewildered child. - -“Roberts!” Deane spoke so sharply that he was shaken from his spell and -sat more normally, looking at her now with quiet speculation. “What is -it you wish me to do? I see no reason to protract a conversation so -unpleasant.” - -The adviser met her glance with restraint. - -“My motives are misconstrued,” he said slowly. “You will forgive my naive -desire to lend Martin my support?” - -Again Deane’s eyes dimmed and faded. Catching his own reflection, -Roberts’ pallor grew even more death-like. And again he gripped the -table, his knuckles white under the transparent skin. In the opalescent -mirror of the woman’s eyes he saw his image—saw the pale movement within -himself. Deane, her face cruel, drove her thoughts in swift waves, -building and clarifying the image until the naked picture of the man and -his disease rose clearly in her mind. There was an odor of decay. Roberts -half rose from his chair, slipped back into it, and leaning sideways on -the table stared fixedly at her. - -Terrified, she arose. In Roberts’ face there was no blood, no expression. -His eyes were set and the cords of his throat made ridges in his white -neck. Deane put her hands over her eyes. She knew now. Her thoughts -raced.... “_He killed Carol. He wants to kill me!_” ... Without excusing -herself she left the restaurant and hurried to a cab. - - * * * * * - -Roberts, his hands limp on the tablecloth, stared before him. He felt -Deane’s movement as she left, but he remained as he was. - -“Take your eyes, too!” he said aloud. His voice rose higher. “I say, take -your eyes!” - -Other diners looked curiously at him, smiling and nodding their heads. A -small, dark woman exchanged glances with her escort. - -“He’s had plenty,” she said. “I watched him and the woman. They had an -argument. The man’s tight.” - -Her escort regarded Roberts earnestly. - -“I don’t know. It looks as though he has the horrors.” - -Roberts gazed steadily at the translucent eyes floating across the table. - -“All right, my dear. Stay there,” he said loudly. - -The dark woman’s escort glanced at him worriedly and beckoned to a -waiter. - -“Say, waiter, there’s a chap over there with the jitters. He needs -looking after.” - -The waiter approached Roberts warily. - -“Is there something you wish, sir?” he said, deferentially. - -Roberts still watched the eyes. He stood up and spoke quietly. - -“Very well, I shall go. You remain here.” Turning to the waiter, “My hat, -quickly.” - -Outside, the adviser hailed a taxi, climbed in unsteadily and directed -the driver to his apartment. - -Dropping his coat on the divan in the living room, he went hurriedly to -the mirror and stared into it. The light on the glass wavered, a shadow -appeared, and Deane’s eyes, large and transparent, materialized before -him. Roberts cried out sharply. - -“I told you to stay!” - -He jerked around, went to a chair, sat on the edge of it and put his head -in his hands, rocking gently on his toes. - -“My God, Martin!—to think that I could have loved you! After all, Devaud, -you’re nothing but a sailor. A hostile, bestial—” Roberts’ head jerked -back and he jumped to his feet, breathing heavily. “Deane,” he panted, -“you’re in this room! It won’t help to try and hide. I can locate you -by your eyes. They’re in that glass there.” He pointed. “You think you -know my secret. It’s a lie! It’s a dream, and you’re a lie!” He leaned -against the chair, his cheeks darkening. “I’ll find Martin. Martin will -be fair.... Martin—you always liked me. You didn’t deserve a job.... -Take her away, Martin! I want to sleep. I can’t sleep while she’s hiding -here.” He stopped speaking, a crafty expression changing his face. -Tiptoeing into the bathroom, he pulled the mirror from the cabinet and -holding it under his arm, crept back to the living room. - -Approaching the larger glass which hung at the end of the room, he -quickly drew the other mirror from under his arm and held it so that the -two of them reflected into each other. Then, bursting into short, sobbing -laughter, he shook the smaller glass furiously. - -“There! Look at yourself! You’re sick, too!” His laughter became fiercer -until his body rocked from its violence. Suddenly he stiffened. The -mirror dropped from his hands, the glass splintering, and Roberts fell. - - - - -_CHAPTER XXVII_ - - -Martin and Rio walked along the waterfront in silence. All activity -seemed suspended. It was a lonely and a menacing panorama to both men who -realized that the very heart of the city had been pierced. Imported goods -and products for exportation were lying quiet, slowing up the commerce -of the world. Union longshoremen and truckmen had walked out with the -striking seamen; and the desperate efforts of independent groups could -not compensate for the loss of regimentated teamwork and good fellowship, -so vital. Policemen patrolled each pier to prevent acts of violence -between organized and unorganized Labor. Between the entrances, the -scattered trucks rolled about like confused ants. - -“Damn the governors!” said Rio, thrusting out his jaw. - -“Who?” - -“_Who?_” repeated Rio, in exasperation. “Capital, you bastard! Capital! -_You’ve_ eaten their sour pudding and slept on their lousy blankets!—and -you ask _me_ ‘who’! It’s Capital that smashes Labor!” - -“Money and work,” said Martin serenely. “Money and work.” - -Rio turned on him nervously. - -“Cut out that speakin’ in tongues, or whatever the hell it is, Martin. -I’ve heard you damn the Companies from Shanghai to Port Said. Anyway, -what about the printin’ plant?” - -“It’s closed. The boys walked out. That’s all.” - -“Why?” - -“The same reason they’re walking out everywhere—for better hours, better -conditions.” - -“When do they open?” - -“I don’t know. There’ll be arbitration, of course. Most of the men -though, have put away enough chips to ride it. I haven’t.” - -“Well,” said Rio, “what are you goin’ to do?” - -“I don’t know that either. I have enough left to run me for a few weeks. -Then if things haven’t opened I’ll have to ship out.” - -“And leave Deane with Roberts around? You told me not to mention her, but -I guess it’s O.K. now.” - -“Deane will be all right,” Martin nodded. “Roberts had a stroke. He can’t -move.” - -“Roberts? A stroke?” Rio looked pleased, and there was a definite -satisfaction in his voice as he continued. “Maybe that’s why my idea -didn’t work. I went to his place that night, and the next. The second -time he was home, but there was lights....” Rio shook his head wisely. -“And I work in the dark,” he added, looking at Martin. “But about the -plant—can’t you get another job ashore?” - -“I doubt it. I don’t know another trade.” - -“Then what the hell good did college do you?” - -“College? That’s another one I can’t answer,” said Martin. “I was too -young. The world turned backwards. I hated my young, fresh hair and the -child in my face. I needed the forest and the open sea—an insane wind -that held my breath. I hated pedantry, and the inquisitive eyes of girls.” - -“What else?” asked Rio. - -“It’s too old to hurt now,” answered Martin. - -“Go on,” said Rio. - -“It wasn’t much. It taught me to drink incredibly bad gin—corrosive -enough that it’s a wonder I have any guts left. Why go on?” - -“I know,” said Rio. “You had it your way, and I had it mine. But it was -all the same.... I had the wind you longed for, and it put scissors in -my throat! Let’s forget it. Look!” He pointed to a wharf near them. One -group of men walking along it held signs in the air. Another, grimly -silent, stood by the entrance to the warehouse pier, watching those who -came out and those who entered. “We’ll forget our trouble in _that_ -scramble, Martin! It looks like our boys have tied up a ship.” - -“Let’s see. That’s Pier V7. What ship’s that?” - -“The _Leana_. She makes Pedro, and Puget Sound, I think.” - -One of the men who were carrying signs stopped when he saw them. - -“Howdy, Rio.” - -“Hello, Brick. What’s the jibe?” - -“They paid us off an’ are tryin’ to ship a fink crew,” answered the man, -hitching the sign a little higher. “We dumped the mattresses over the -side last night comin’ in. The bedbugs had made ’em Snug Harbor. I slept -on the hatch off the coast of Mexico. And God!—what roaches!” - -“Hmm,” said Rio, and he and Martin walked on. - -They had started uptown when a man came out of the warehouse. One of the -union men who was watching the doorway ran after him and knocked off his -cap with the flat of his hand. The other tried to fight back but was -smothered with punches before a policeman broke it up. - -“Like old times,” said Martin. - -“Yeah. Let’s go up to the Hall,” suggested Rio. - -They reached South Ferry, walked to Pearl Street and went up the stairs -into an old building. The room was crowded with seamen. Some of them, -in chairs tilted against the wall, were sitting quietly or exchanging -stories. Others were playing cards. The air was full of tobacco smoke, -stale and close. Rio and Martin went to the desk. A jumpy-eyed man -behind it knew them and nodded. Martin took out his book. His dues were -paid to the following month, but he laid down eight more dollars. - -The nervous fellow looked at him, then took the book and examined it -carefully. - -“I see you ain’t got in no picket duty since you left the west coast,” he -said. - -“No.” - -“We could use a man on the line to-night.” - -“I’ll be there.” - -“Put me down, too,” said Rio. “I need a good sleep.” - -“Yeah!” snapped the agent. “This ain’t Frisco, nor Portland, where they -bat their scabby brains out. Here, the Company takes these fink bastards -from the ship by car and leaves ’em in town. The boys make a few clap -joints, meet the transportation and are brought back to the ship.” The -agent licked his lips, showing perfect teeth, shining and yellow. “It’s -silk—till they sail under.” He bit a fingernail and turned to another man. - -Rio was growling when he and Martin left the Hall. - -“God damn the finks,” he said. - -“That’s right,” agreed Martin. “They struck me midships once. They nearly -sank me.” - -“You know,” said Rio, angrily, “I like you. But for Christ’s sake, don’t -give me your end of the sea! You’re about as salty as lard.” - -Martin smiled. - -“Yes, they nearly sank me,” he repeated. “The ship was listing fourteen -degrees when the bos’n ran into the fo’c’sle in his dirty underwear. He -danced the ise-odori with a bottle of Saki under one arm and an ordinary -seaman under the other, on a deck that would have frozen grandmother’s -mittens. Now Rio, do you figure yourself a deep water sailor? Because -you’ve pulled in the log on a cold night and lashed barrels to a hatch -with your butt to the wind—are you sure of the ocean?... Have you ever -curled a sea egg around your elbow?—kissed a barracuda over black -water?—raced a shark in a harbor full of battle-wagons dumping garbage, -with your own boat forty feet away against the wind? Have you winked at a -sea spider and made him shuffle backwards till his legs ruffled slow sand -in your face?” - -“Well,” said Rio, laughing, “I told you once you were the ‘part of.’” - -They were back at Pier V7. Other men were concentrating from the Hall to -relieve the day pickets. - -“They brought in two cars full,” said a tall fellow who had been heading -the day men. He turned to Rio. “You take care of the night gang. We’ll -bring down coffee. The Company is usin’ black sedans—some of the blinds -was down when they pulled in. A couple of cops is standin’ by the gate -so you can’t do much there. But if you divide your gang and send half of -’em up the alley a ways, you can get a sign. Hop on the runnin’ board, -an’ you know what to do. Another thing. All the deck officers walked out -when we was paid off except the third mate. That’s one Company man I’d -like to see you get. The finks may not get no leave to-night, but the -_Leana_ don’t sail for four days. If we keep a good lookout, maybe we can -get a couple of the bastards. That’s all, except don’t do no drinkin’.” - -“What’s that on your breath?” asked someone. “Orange juice?” - -“I can hold it,” said the tall fellow. - -The pickets laughed and the day men left. The night gang joined around -Rio. - -“I’ll take a few of you up there.” Rio pointed to a pile of dunnage. “The -rest of you watch the gate. If a Company car comes, give me a light three -times and get out. We’ll take care of the rest of it. Don’t talk to the -cops unless they talk to you first. Keep your distance from the gate. -Have you got a torch you can signal me with, Billy?” - -“No, I ain’t.” - -“I got mine here,” said one of the men, pulling out a flashlight. - -“Give it to Billy,” said Rio. “He’s worked with me before. Remember, -Billy—burn it at me three times.” - -“O.K.” - -It was almost dark and Rio selected his men, including Martin. They -walked up the street to an old pile of lumber by a dark pier. - -“Get this, boys—no knives. A club’s best, but not a piece of pipe. Work -on ’em hard, but don’t kill ’em. You, Eddy—and you, Martin—an’ me’ll hop -the runnin’ board. Smash the glass an’ bring her to the side. We got to -work fast before brass-buttons shows up.” - -“What if they’re Company officials?” asked Martin. - -“_They_ won’t be here,” said Rio, amused. “But if they are, give ’em two, -instead of one.” - -“What’s the matter with ye, sonny?” asked a dwarf-like man with immense -shoulders. “Is yer belly soft?” He glared at Martin. - -“We’ll find out soon, my muscle-bound patriot,” said Martin walking -toward him swiftly. - -Several seamen jumped between them. - -“I’ll hear one more crack from either of you, an’ I’ll bat your thick -skulls together,” said Rio quietly. “Our union is split already. We got -work to do, an’ you start a parade. You ain’t fit to work.” - -“I’ll work,” said Martin. - -“Me, too,” said the heavy seaman. - -“Shake hands,” said an older man with grizzled hair and an intense, -strained face. - -“It was my fault,” said Martin. - -“Naw, it was mine,” objected the squat fellow sheepishly as they shook -hands. - -“You don’t need to kiss,” said Rio sharply. Then he held up his hand. -“Get this straight,” he continued. “It ain’t no joke we’re playin’. Maybe -this’ll help.” He took a bottle from his pocket and passed it around, -each man taking a shot of the liquor. Rio finished it and tossed the -bottle under the dunnage. “It’s about time for the rats to come out if -they’re goin’ ashore,” he went on. “Keep an eye to the pier.” He turned -suddenly to one of the younger seamen. “You ain’t got no club.” - -“My brother was killed in Detroit that way, Rio. Lemme use my fists.” - -Rio turned his face aside for a moment. When he looked at the boy again -it was like metal. - -“Get yourself a club, buddy.” - -Hesitatingly, the seaman took up a knotty piece of wood. He held it in -his hands one way and then another, his face white. - -One of the men came up to Rio and took him to one side. He said something -in a low voice and Rio nodded. The man returned his nod and left -hurriedly. - -“_This is the time, dear Mother_—” hummed a seaman. - -“Shut up,” said his partner. - -They waited silently, watching the pier for any light. Suddenly, a man -came upon them, startling them as he shuffled in and laid down a large -package. - -“Here it is, Rio.” The man was panting. “It’s me—Al.” - -“Beer!” The men exulted quietly, peering through the early darkness. - -Al now took a short automatic from his pocket and handed it to Rio. - -“Drink up,” Rio said to the men. - -Each man took a bottle and waited in turn for the opener except one -seaman who, impatient, knocked off the cap of his bottle against a block -of wood. - -“Take the rest down to the men at the pier,” said Rio to Al, who shambled -away noiselessly. - -Someone struck a match. In the flare Rio saw Martin regarding him -steadily. He grinned. It was a painful, smashing look and he didn’t take -his eyes away. The match flickered out and Martin came up to him slowly. - -“Watch for the lights, Eddy,” cautioned Rio, as he and Martin walked a -few yards away from the lowered sounds of the men. - -“So you believe, Martin, that I’d pull this?” Rio twisted the automatic -in his hand. “Al got this for me. He’d eat out of my hand. Never mind -why. This—belongs to Roberts. It was used one night. I got it for you.” - -“You told the story?” asked Martin. - -“I told no story. Al’s a thief. He does what I say, but his heart is -finer than yours.” - -“I don’t doubt it,” said Martin, feeling the gun and Rio’s hands in the -dark. Breaking it under Rio’s wrist, he suddenly threw back his arm and -spun the automatic into the river.... Vaguely he heard Rio say there were -lights.... - -Martin looked toward the pier and saw the headlights of an automobile -coming upon them. The car was gaining speed as it passed the pile of -lumber. Martin, faster than the others, leaped for the running board and -swung himself against the windshield glass, holding to the door-handle. -His head was turned just enough to see Eddy jump behind him. Eddy missed -the board. His body spun vertically against the rear fender and crashed -on the pavement. Behind him, Rio was running frantically. Martin smashed -his hand through the side window, feeling slivers of glass against his -arm. He caught the driver by the throat and, through the sound of the -motor, could hear the dark gurgle under his fingers. There was swearing -and shoving inside, but Martin hurt too much to care. He pushed steadily -against the lower part of the wheel until the machine swerved and tilted -toward the river. It came around in a wide arc, breaking heavily on the -shoulder of the pier. Then Martin heard Rio’s voice and knew that he, -himself, was falling. He turned so that the back of his head would not -strike the paving, and felt the rush of hot blood as his nose and mouth -hit first. Instead of putting him out, it cleared his brain. He lay -quietly, watching Rio swing his fist and then his club. Abstractly, he -watched the other men in the crew go into action against the finks. He -didn’t care.... - -The gorilla-like sailor with whom he had quarreled, held a bottle as -though it were a club. He was snarling as he pulled a man from the car. - -“So it _is_ ye, ye finkified mate! I been lookin for ye!” Martin heard -him say. “I been lookin’ for ye, an’ yer damned long finger ye’ve pointed -at me like a dog! God!—I’ll git that finger now!” he added hoarsely, -bringing the bottle down on the fender of the car until it was split -across. Savagely he threw the mate on the ground, held him by the collar -and stepped on his wrist. Then, separating the man’s forefinger from the -rest of his hand, he brought down the split edge of the bottle sharply -above the middle knuckle. - -“Wife—Wife!” cried the mate softly. - -The seaman picked up the severed finger, shook it in the man’s face and -flung it on the ground beside him. - -“Splice it, Jack! Splice it!” He was cursing the fallen man brokenly. -Martin looked away.... - -Then he saw the boy whose brother had been killed in Detroit. -“Automobiles,” thought Martin. The boy had no club and was on his back, -fighting desperately with a large man from the car. Martin crawled to his -knees, not feeling his injured arm or his split chin. He stood waveringly -for a moment and got to them just as the man’s broad hand was spearing -the boy’s face. Martin knew that he was falling again, not fighting, as -he reached them; but he dug his teeth into a fleshy neck and held on as -though he were killing a snake, while the body beneath him thrashed and -cried. A hard hand pulled him off. Rio was standing above him. - -“It’s over, Martin. We got a car.... Come, men!” - -Martin spat out blood and climbed into the automobile along with the -others. - - - - -_CHAPTER XXVIII_ - - -Martin went slowly to Roberts’ apartment house, his head lowered. His -right arm was in a sling, the lower part of his mouth was bruised and -split. His nose was swollen. He went up in the elevator to Roberts’ rooms -and rang once. A doctor came out into the hall. For a moment the two men -regarded each other speculatively. Martin saw the blue, introspective -eyes, the strong turn of the chin and the gray hairline, receding deeply -at the temples. The physician saw a young man with a broken, illusive -face. - -“I’m Martin Devaud, Doctor. I’m Roberts’ friend. I heard he asked for me.” - -“I can see you, Martin,” said the physician kindly, “for I’m Roberts’ -friend, too.” - -Martin rubbed his cut arm and turned his eyes away. - -“You can see? How far?” - -The physician shook his head, but did not answer. - -“This stroke,” Martin continued. “Is it serious? Is there any time to -help?” - -All this while, the doctor had been watching him, noticing his bruised -face and strained expression, his bandaged arm. - -“You seem to have been in something of a mix-up, yourself,” the physician -smiled faintly. Then, of a sudden, his face became divisible with the -old, tired pains and the new, sharp ones as balance. “Do you know -Roberts’ condition?” he asked seriously. - -“No,” said Martin. “Roberts and I quarreled, and I haven’t seen him -lately.” He ran his hand over his tender chin. - -The doctor looked off down the hall, and in his eyes there was now -restraint born of his intimacy with pain. - -“He mentions your name continually, Martin,” observed the physician. “The -thought of you seems to make him desperate in the moments of lucidity -which unfortunately attend his madness. And from the strange way he talks -at times, one might think you had had a part in the cause of this grave -illness. But such is not the case. His illness took root years ago.” - -One word cried out to Martin. - -“‘Madness’?—you say?” - -“Yes,” said the physician. “It’s like the putrefaction of albumen. Almost -like the expansion of gasses within a closed chamber. This disintegration -must go on. It’s what we have here.” - -Martin felt himself turning sick. - -“‘Putrefaction’? Doctor?” - -“Yes. Putrefaction of the cerebral mass, that most delicate and most -amazing structure—a powerful gift to man.” The doctor was grave. - -“What can I do?” asked Martin, horrified. - -In answer, the physician shook his head and Martin knew that all was -futile. - -“May I see him?” - -Again the doctor regarded Martin thoughtfully. It was as though he -wondered whether this man’s agitated mind could view the spectacle which -was soon to be presented. And Martin, waiting quietly, understood and -respected this professional skepticism. At last, the physician spoke. - -“Before you go in, Martin, remember that you are looking at the -demanding, expansive form of paresis. Be careful!” - -As Martin entered the bedroom he saw a disorientated face—a deflective -rapport of Roberts with his environment—a clouding of consciousness. And -as he went closer he knew that Roberts had no comprehension of detail -or of situation. Martin felt completely helpless. It seemed to him that -the translucent, attenuated skeleton of the adviser had wrapped its arms -around him, instead of the disease. The sick man’s lips, dry and split, -opened and closed in an effort to speak. The guttural tones reached -Martin’s ears as though from a great distance—the words moving gently, -like a broad leaf without wind. - -“Martin! Martin!” Roberts’ expression became clear and defined. The -immobile muscles of his face relaxed. “Martin!” he repeated. “Are you -there?” - -In the room was a terrible pressure. - -Again he called—“Martin! Martin! Are you there?” - -“Yes, Roberts, I’m here.” - -The pitiful, decayed mask upon the pillow broke like a free tide. It -spilled in diluted, semi-conscious tears against the linen. Roberts tried -to shake the covers; but his hands stood out perpendicularly from the -sides of his waist. They remained there, insensitive, incoherent, until -Martin took them gently and laid them on the sheet. - -Again, momentary consciousness lighted Roberts’ face. Its brightness and -shrewd study shocked Martin more than any act of tension could have done. - -“Do you want a confession, dear boy?” called out the sick man. “Do you -want my signature?... Ha, ha!—Ho, ho!—Hee, hee, hee!...” The ghastly -cry reflected from the ceiling. It wasn’t laughter, or hysteria. It was -a lachrymose and untidily folded cry of remorse, torn from the swiftly -hollowing brain cell. - -With his left hand Martin raised his own wounded arm to his forehead. -When at last he brought it down, the gauze was wet. In the interim, -bright eyes shone through the window. They were mirthful, smoldering and -amused—the cancerous eyes of birds. Infuriated, Martin crossed the room -and pulled down the blinds. When he turned in the direction of the bed -once more, Roberts’ luminous eyes were parallel with his hand which was -now hanging over the edge of the covers. The constriction of the pupils -was so intense—so minute that the eyes seemed blind. But the expression -was one of gravest interest. - -“Come, Martin! Come, Infidelity! You’re my only one. If I don’t look -grotesque enough for a death scene, give me a nightcap. One with white -flaps over the ears and a blue peak—laugh for me, Martin!” - -“For God’s sake, Roberts—not now. I’m dying with you.” - -There was a sprawling, unintelligible sound from the adviser’s lips, and -then silence. Martin waited, amazed at the clarity of Roberts’ words, -amazed at this strange and powerful mind, still formidable. Again the -adviser looked at him. - -“Die?” he asked peevishly. Then more firmly, “No you won’t, darling. -Unhappy men don’t die.... Could you give me your strong, brown arm -without shuddering? It would mean a great deal to me.... I can see your -strong, brown arm where there’s heat and dark, flashing clouds. It’s -peeling a tangerine—cutting a fruit for lips as soft as the flesh in my -spine—oh, wicked!... A dark girl’s belly—the cup for your mouth. Oh, -God, Martin! Your mouth—the stomach—the stench of normalcy. Before that -happens, give me your arm—your clean, brown arm....” - -Martin went swiftly to the bed, his eyes flickering as he sank to his -knees. With his good left arm, and hiding the one stripped with bandages, -he lifted the skull-like head until it was level with his own, which had -begun to throb and ache. - -“Here is my arm, Roberts. It is your protection and your faith,” he said. - -Vapidly Roberts smiled at him. - -“My faith—my own true faith.... No one believed, but I knew that you were -mine!... Not even Deane believed.” - -“Not even Deane,” repeated Martin, his wounded arm shaking against the -silken counterpane. - -Roberts’ eyes were becoming glazed. - -“They’d all feel cheap, if they could see us now. Your arms around a -corpse—a corpse that strikes to prove itself!” His thin hand pushed -against Martin’s broken nose, falling again and again on Martin’s face -which failed to recognize the pain. “You love me, though I’m defeated, my -dear boy.” He raised his hand once more, but this time it dropped limply -to the coverlet. Again the torn brain lost all contact, and he wandered, -hesitantly. - -“I come before the leisured policies of man. I have these tears, -these positive notes of cruelty. Do you want to know?... Smash the -hidden casket of Carol, and you’ll find the first. He fed himself -with the intolerable dreams of your isolated sanctuary. He cried out -of lips as stale as mine. Our Grail was the same, each futile in its -own pride. Carol, the bucket. Filled with the residue of my hatred. -Murder?—Death?—That’s nothing.... I went to him on a night gray as your -eyes. He desired you. His flesh, quite frantically, cried out. Could I -stand _that_? Could I stand the corned stupidity of his mind after _you_, -most beautiful?... I went to him. Deadly and most honestly I threw the -passionate, leaden stone into the vacuum of his heart.” Roberts spoke -without lips—the ventriloquy of his despair so hurtful and adolescent, so -pitifully gay. - -“There is a tear for Rio. I’ve seen him follow you with his eyes—that -rollicking, healthy sailor! That bold adventurer with the Mongoloid eyes. -His bravado is covered with a native strength to hide his shame.” Roberts -chuckled hoarsely. “My sinful innocent—never to have seen the colored -lechery behind his muscles!... Rio—epitome of flesh—carnality in Mother -Goose’s shoes—a bundle of white snow—quite terrified.... I’ve seen his -bleak face, whipped by wind and wave, and so have you. But it takes death -to bring me the knowledge of his simple, frightened passion. Oh!—he will -never fail you, although he doesn’t know why.... Enough of him—enough of -his cautious, boastful gallantry which makes one sick when one is well, -and makes one laugh when one is sick.” Again the adviser hesitated. -Slowly and painfully he turned that he might look at Martin. - -“The next tear is for Deane—the one you think you own. You don’t possess -her. You hold an empty vase—the artificial movements, smiles and anguish -of the woman—all of them as brazen as I, when I first met you. I thought -you were the spindle, I the thread. I thought that you were life—an -intoxicating bubble in a heavily filled glass. Deeply and amusedly I -drank, too late to feel the poison.” - -“I’ve saved a tear for Drew. He thought that he was strong enough to -escape. But it isn’t ‘escape’ to avoid the thing one loves the most. And -so, _I_ know I had the strength _not_ to escape—and I am happier than -he.... - -“The last tear is in a vial that I give you. A tear to use when abstract -sorrow’s not enough—a potion you may pour on blistered flesh to lift the -crust of tender skin that each swift-moving piston and fast-spinning -wheel of man can drive and curve before your fond excitement. - -“On myself, you didn’t use a tear. Your hands and mind tore my integument -until the bone shows. Watch this!” Roberts, weakened, but fierce, reached -for Martin’s hair. There was a brief silence as Martin, his head bowed -over the bed, felt the momentary spasm of twisted fingers on his scalp. -He did not speak or lift his eyes. As in a dream, he felt the fingers -that had clutched his hair so frightfully, become more feeble. There -was a gentle, automatic patting against his forehead and he heard deep, -horrible sobs.... - -Roberts put his hands across his eyes. - -“Martin, you are like my desperate, dead mother, she being the more -selfish and adored though, of the two. It’s why I’ve loved you both, -though you the less. She is the most important now. She is the greater.” -The adviser raised his head in a final gesture of triumph. “Speak! Why -don’t you speak, Martin? Your tongue’s been loose enough before. But now -that each mad syllable could match the inarticulation in my own vast -lungs, you sit dumbly—like a passive Christ. Have you reformed?—or, -are you a dead man waiting for my company? For I’m a King. I have -great powers. Shall I have you tortured in my dungeons, or thrown from -my domain?—But no! I have no rack, no bed of agony to meet your own -inventions. And my domain’s a joke. You own it all, from the boiling -center of the earth unto the farthest, coldest star.” - -Martin held him closer. He stared at Roberts until the sick man’s eyelids -lifted, showing the brief, unfocused glance. There was recognition, -but complete indifference. The vacant, polite smile was only a slight -movement of the lips. Had Martin not been blinded by his own fine -helplessness—his deepened affection, he would have seen another thing. -He would have noticed the oddly rounded chin with its slackness—its hint -of cogent lechery below the hungry bones that stretched the cheek of the -adviser. He would have seen the newly tapered lines, out of silhouette, -and the dense eyes, gaping; or the fibrous hair, the cocked head and -gently fluttering tongue. Instead, the generalities—vague outlines were -predominant. This swiftly perishing mask, to Martin’s eyes, could have -been a sallow apple—a melon broken from the vine—or an older moon in -autumn. There was no individuality or ego. There were damp breathings, -sonorous emanations from the bed and the faint, orgastic music of white -flowers in a tomb. Martin held his breath, held his own head lower and -asked for some release.... When he looked up again this blended, spectral -motion was gone forever. This mixture of sound and color, so horrible to -him, now drifted from the gently closing door. - - - - -_CHAPTER XXIX_ - - -Martin knew that it was time to work again. He knew that there must be -some expression of his own to erase the unending march of Carol and -Roberts in his thoughts. The evolution of his type design had stopped, -each pattern seeming worse than the preceding one. - -He was disturbed and hesitant upon regarding the sun. The clouds were no -longer poems and the sunset meant only darkness. Within himself alone -could he feel the yearnings and the beauty, the life chord pulling, -insisting. He was tormented with dreams. Sounds grew from the ground. -Proud women with dragons on their white shoulders walked in a death-like -mist. Behind the retreating curve of mountain he could hear Deane -laughing. Brought with the wind, the laughter became monotonous—something -at which to strike. - -In the early morning there was peace. In the early morning when even the -birds were silent and the stars white, Martin would awaken and stand by -the window. During these moments he was elated and alive. But when he -went to sleep again, he fought among dreams that seemed both real and -unreal. - -One daybreak he awoke and threw his arm across his eyes. The night’s -monsters were growing larger and more demanding. Perhaps it was -impossible to kill them by bending them into symbols—by throwing them on -paper. The units of the living and the dead must be presented to daytime -and the mind’s curiosity. He worked soberly, breeding the straight -line with the afflicted. He tried the medium of words, changing every -character, crossing their susceptible hands. He danced the ugly noises -with the sound of roses and blew a splintering rock into a wreath of -silver hair. Bravely he went to the night’s agony and blinding sweat -until he felt himself confused by so meaningless a gallantry that once -again he turned to Deane. - -They sat beside each other in her home that night. Deane saw that he had -changed—she saw his quietude, the patient line between his eyes. - -He kissed her lips. - -“It’s restful here, darling,” he said. “A sweet, domestic anodyne—the -sweetest I have ever known. The transition has been swift. I ran with -wild men, smashed machines, climbed, waded and struggled toward an -impossible ideal. I was hard when Carol was murdered; and though little -chips were broken from me, the planets remained in their orbits—heat -meant one thing, and cold another. This is still true in one sense; -but my relationship to them has changed.... Roberts died in my arms. -He thought I loved him. Diseased, humiliated by our artificial sexual -codes, he made his own world. Quite happily he lived and dreamed in this -chimerical condition until unfortunately, I entered his last kingdom. It -had to be myself—the one man whose bitter defenses remained impregnable -to Roberts’ bold demands. However, as the albinic, antagonistic germ -bored into his brain, this mind became detached, severed; and I felt -the pent-up hatred of his frustration. I didn’t mind that—but suddenly, -consciousness was established again through some strange medium, and he -told me it was my world—that he belonged to me. He told me of my cruelty. -And that’s how he died.... I love you, Deane, but I’ll go back to the -midstrip of the world where my toes bubble, oiling the hot deck of a -ship, before I’ll hurt you. That’s my country—isolation in body, but not -in mind. And when I touch land it will be a dark whore.” Martin’s face -had not changed expression nor had his voice gathered volume. But his -self-contempt and his visualizations against the soft, purple shadows -of the quiet room and the chained refractions of the woman’s beautiful -face beside him pressed Heaven and Hell together and there was no breath -around them. - -Deane held back her tears. - -“You’re bleeding yourself, Martin,” she said, “and for no reason. I’m -in love with you, too, and I love your fantasies. But please don’t -talk of things which are absurd—of the South Seas—of dirty ships and -dirtier islands. Your sound effects about black women are not dramatic, -darling—they’re just a little irrational. Oh, no!—Martin, I’m not -trusting your libido or your discrimination. To be candid, it isn’t -a question of trust. You must have your stage, your setting and your -actors. I don’t mind that—and I’ll be part of the whole scheme although I -don’t understand it. I’ve run wild, too, though in a different way. But -I found out how meaningless it was, how much it hurt me without helping -anyone else and I’ve stopped, just as you’ll do. There will always be -violence in your dreams, and that will be some outlet. And there are -gymnasiums and little fishing boats where you can break your neck in a -more restrained fashion.” Deane closed her hands on his, and spoke with -a desperate gravity. “And you can always swear loudly to me about the -world’s tyranny—perhaps I’ll swear a little, also. But you can’t go back -to bad ships and worse men, and be part of an organized brutality. I want -you here with me. I want you to work on your beautiful ideas and build -a solid foundation for both of us. You look different, Martin. You look -more mature. I think you’re tired of that other world. Dearest,” she went -on, touching her lips to his cheek, “we can’t dismiss our life together -even though it has been brief.” She turned to Martin with a sudden -passionate insistence. “Let’s go on from this point together, darling. -Let’s dismiss philosophy, ideals that can be forgotten in a night, -other people’s helplessness and drama.” She held Martin more tightly. -“We must stop thinking about these terrible people,” she repeated. -“What do we care about them?” Deane’s lips trembled. “Carnality!” she -exclaimed. “The vile, damnable beasts! Pouncing from house to house and -bedroom to bedroom like a disjointed Roman carnival. Give them any veil -of understanding you possess and they still exist in the flatlands—the -tilted, undernoted lowlands where not even slime comes to birth! A -driveling code of introduction from one land to the other and a rotten -horde of Young America comes alive! What have we to do with that?” Deane -was weeping; and as though symbolical of her blazing words, her hair had -spread over her shoulders—had spread, thought Martin as he touched it, -“like the flame of a torch in the dark waters of a lost lagoon.” - -“‘What have we to do with that?’” he repeated. “Nothing, Deane. Nothing -can touch us now. But first I have to go from you. I don’t know for how -long, or how far. It’s part of the scheme. And remember, I didn’t build -it; but I know the undertows, the ebb tides and the breakers. There is a -distant sun on our horizon, and I won’t go into happiness or unhappiness -until it’s reached. Don’t you think I’ll miss those lights?” He pointed -out of the window. “But I’ll have stars around that will bring this room -to me. I’m a dreamer, and they have luck. So forget the dull months or -the aching ones. Give my picture a bath once a day until it’s white; -and I’ll stay that way.” Martin’s voice broke and he stood up. “I can’t -say ‘Good-bye, Mrs. Smith—’ and bow and strain until my sharp, black -coat sticks out, nor turn and smile ‘It’s been a pleasant afternoon—I’ll -call you soon.’”[5] His voice became harsh. “These fools’ farewells and -wet good-byes are as thick and viscous as a glue pot, Deane. Sentiment -rises in me easily and I’m ashamed that my hand seems blurred against the -dress that covers your knee. That’s why I curse such weakness and yearn -to leave my beloved with my hat over my nose, yelling blasphemously at a -wall-eyed, pot-bellied moon.” - -“You sound like a drunken Irish tenor,” exclaimed Deane, covering her -celibate pain at once with the same quick irony. - -“By God, I _am_ drunk!” cried Martin. “Drunk on your hair and the -moisture of your lips and the way you look at me. Drunk with hatred -because I won’t see them or taste them again until the same dark wind -that takes me away brings me back.” - -A wraith-like smile hovered on Deane’s lips. - -“The wind that brings you home, Martin, won’t be dark. It will be light -and gentle and perhaps will carry a few white clouds on its back.” - -“No.” He shook his head. “I want it dark and heavy and raging. I want it -so fierce it will bring me home much faster.” - -“Let me have it my way, Martin,” she urged softly. “I want it gentle so -that no part of you will be hurt. I’ve never been patient about most -things; but I will be—about this.” Deane spoke so tenderly that the cool -night wind stopped blowing, and a moment of such stillness ensued that -all outside was hidden—all sound, all waves of sound and color—everything -was hidden. - -“Almighty God!” whispered Martin, staring at her—staring at her coral -cheeks and swollen bosom. “The Scylla Deeps—a sea no man has found—” -Aloud he cried, “It will be done your way, Deane. In the end, it will -always be your way.” The tears were coming into his eyes without -restraint. He opened the door, saw the silhouette of the woman sitting -quietly on the couch, looked for a moment through the window at the -lights which seemed to be nodding to him and went into the hall. - -Outside, in the street, he hesitated, then turned toward the river. For a -long time he wandered about the waterfront. Wearily, at last, he sat down -on one of the piers and watched the moon set. When dawn came he got up -stiffly and went to the Seaman’s Institute. - - - - -_CHAPTER XXX_ - - -Martin went into the large main room of the Institute, found a vacant -chair, sat down and looked at the men. He couldn’t recognize a single -face although the seamen were going through the usual formulas. Some of -them were lined up before the marble bar, drinking coffee and eating -doughnuts. Others stood in groups, talking to each other; while a few, -like himself, sat quietly, knowing themselves on the fringe of the -stream. Some of these few were regarding their history—pressing their -falls and errors out of the past. Some were rubbing the small change in -their pockets, wondering whether to buy “smoke” and for a brief period -drift into the senseless drunkenness and blindness of the poison, or to -try again—to use this precious remnant of their money for getting to a -pier already lined with men as desperate to ship out as themselves. - -A man walked in, brown-skinned, alert. He went, in turn, to several -groups of seamen. They welcomed him and he shook their hands. “I wonder -how long he’ll last,” thought Martin. “A week, I guess, if he’s paid -off.” He heard the men question the newcomer about the ship—the food. -Had he seen Ella in Coconut Grove?... Was Charlie’s Punch Bowl as alive -as ever?... Had he paid off?... The man grinned when they mentioned Ella, -nodded his head vigorously about Jamaica; but said “No!” about paying off. - -“I can’t get that way again, boys.” He pointed to a few deadheads, -snoring in their chairs. His finger swung to Martin. “For Christ’s sake,” -he said, walking rapidly to him. For a moment he stood in front of him, -shaking his head, his hands on his hips. “You look like one of them -crawlers we used to swat in Morocco. Is your short-arm jammed?” - -Martin managed a thin smile. - -“I’ve spent a winter in New York—that’s all.” - -The sailor bent over him. - -“Listen—I been up at the Hall. I heard what you done the other night. -There’s two ships in you can make. One is your old pal, the _Verda_. We -need two men. Can you get Rio? I still got his oilskins.” - -“What happened to the little ordinary, Al?” Martin asked. - -The sailor looked puzzled. - -“The ordinary?” Al thought a moment. “Oh—you mean that little screw that -was aboard when you and Rio piled off. Damned if I know. He only made one -more trip. Say,” he said, looking at Martin queerly, “we sail at five. -There ain’t no time to lose. Git hold of Rio and beat it to the Hall.” - -“All right,” said Martin, getting up. He went out quickly, nodding to -the policeman by the entrance, then hurried to Rio’s room and knocked on -the door. Rio opened it. He looked half-asleep. - -“What’s up?” he asked, rolling back on the bed. “James don’t bring coffee -till eleven.” - -“I’m shipping on the _Verda_ this evening. Do you want to come along?” - -“Nuts again, eh?” said Rio, yawning. - -Martin turned to go. - -“Wait a minute,” called Rio, sitting up. “How do you know we can make -her?” - -“We’re the fair-haired boys after the other night. Al told me about the -ship. But we have to hurry.” - -“Are you leavin’ Deane?” asked Rio incredulously. - -“Don’t ask me that,” said Martin, his face turning white. - -“But I don’t want the damned _Verda_. I’m going to Santa de Marina.” - -“Rio,” Martin opened the door, “this is the last trip we can ever make -together. I don’t want the _Verda_ either, but she’ll get me to Panama. -From there I can make it to the East Indies. And as far as Santa de -Marina is concerned, the _Verda_ goes to Puerto Colombia. You can swim -from that point.” - -Without a word Rio got up and began to put on his clothes. His bag was -packed and Martin didn’t ask him why. When he was dressed they went -to the Hall and saw the agent again. This time he greeted them more -cordially. - -“I was hopin’ you boys would come. That was great stuff,” he said, -looking significantly at the end of his own nose. “You earned this -jelly.” He made out two forms for the mate of the _Verda_ and gave them -to Martin and Rio. “Get there by three P.M. drunk or sober.” One of his -eyes twitched nervously. - -“O.K.,” said Rio. - -He and Martin put their slips in their pockets and left the Hall. - -“Is your gear ready, Martin?” - -“It won’t take long. But I have a note to write, so we’ll make it fast.” - -Once in his room, Martin packed his clothes with Rio’s help, saw that his -sneakers were rotten and threw them away. Then he sat down at his desk, -folded his drawings and put them in an envelope addressed MRS. IDARA. For -a few moments he sat there, staring at the name, a shameless grief upon -his face. After a little, he took a piece of paper and a pen and wrote: - -“Dearest....” - -Rio walked up and down, smoking one cigarette after another, stopping at -intervals to glance somewhat anxiously at Martin. - -When Martin finally got up, his eyes were red; but he looked straight at -Rio. - -“That’s that, my bonny friend. We’re going to the _Verda_.” - - * * * * * - -On the deck of the _Verda_ they found the mate. He looked at the papers -sent from the Hall and at the men’s discharges and lifeboat tickets. - -“You can take the eight to twelve, Martin. And you, Rio, the four to -eight. The bos’n won’t mind. He’s sleeping some of it off. We sail at -five and if you go ashore, for God’s sake don’t get too drunk. Somebody -has to handle those derricks. Al and Pete’s ashore, and the ordinaries -came from Mr. Fizz in the office. They won’t know a block from a winch.” - -“I’m not going ashore,” said Martin. - -“Me neither,” said Rio. - -The mate looked at them in some astonishment as they went aft. Then he -shook his head. - -It was like all ships at sailing time. The sailors cursed the lines and -the mates cursed the sailors. The ordinaries didn’t know what to do, -but they hopped gallantly from one side of the deck to the other in a -cold sweat of pretense. Pete’s arm was nearly pulled from its socket -when Al gave the winch too much steam. A linesman on the dock shook his -fist at the ship and the captain walked up and down the bridge, saying -little, but looking at his watch frequently. A longshoreman got his -finger caught, working at one end of the hatch, and yelled frantically in -Italian.... But finally it was done, as it is, always. And the _Verda_ -backed into the current with a tugboat pushing against an impossible -weight and barking angrily through her whistle. It was almost eight when -the last hatch had been battened and the lines coiled. Martin went back -to the fo’c’sle and washed his hands and face. Then he rubbed his back -and chest, put on a clean shirt and was on the ladder to the bridge in -time to hear eight bells struck. - - * * * * * - -Martin grew into the relativity of time. Was it a day?—a month?—a year -that he had been in these warm waters?... The stars grew deeper in the -night; the constellations spread their tails above the ship; the moon, -more arrogant than ever, called from the sky and filled his eyes with -dust. It was the same. The dark, fast knife of cloud that ran at him -was welcomed as a friend. This monster might blot out, in mercy, the -silhouette of Deane.... When pressure, rain and cracked, dry lightning -burned his eyes, he held his hands—his arms into the wind, that it might -bring him solitude from dreams.... And when the squall had passed he -turned to Rio. - -“That entity was beautiful and clean. It swept out all the clammy, dirty -things.... You see that cloud?” He pointed to the swift, retreating -sky. “It had more tears in one brief moment, Rio, than both you, and -I, and all our comrades in a lifetime. And once again, when life is -sticky—seminant with lies, we’ll find a ship, and find that cloud and -hold it....” - -Rio sighed. - - - - -FOOTNOTES - - -[1] _Dynamic Symmetry_, by Dr. J. Hambidge (Yale University Press). - -[2] Stravinsky. - -[3] Music by Charles T. Griffiths, based on the poem by William Sharp. - -[4] - - “How long, how long, in Infinite Pursuit - Of This and That endeavor and dispute?” - - —_Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám._ - -[5] Allusion to mood of _Portrait of a Lady_, by T. S. 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