VIII
Susannah let herself lightly down on the tin roof; it was scarcely astep from her window. With deliberate caution, she turned and drew theshade. Then she tiptoed toward the skylight. The workmen were stillsoldering; the older man, with the air of one performing a delicateoperation, lay stretched out flat, holding some kind of receptacle; theyounger was pouring molten lead from a ladle. Try as she might, shecould not prevent her feet from making a slight tapping on the tin. Theolder man glanced sharply up. "Look out!" called the younger, and hebent again to his work. Almost running now, she stepped into the gapinghole of the skylight. The stairs were very steep--practically a ladder.As she disappeared from view, she heard a quick "What the hell!" fromthe roof above her.
Susannah hurried forward along a dark passage, looking for stairs. Thepassage jutted, became lighter, went forward again. This must be thepoint where the shed-addition joined the main building. She was in thehallway of a dingy, conventional flat-house, with doors to right andleft. One of these doors opened; a woman in a faded calico dress lookedher over, the glance including the traveling-bag; then picked up aletter from the hall-floor, and closed it again. Susannah found herselfcontrolling an impulse to run. But no steps sounded behind her--she wasnot as yet pursued. And there was the stairway--at the very front of thehouse! She descended the two flights to the entrance. There, for amoment, she paused. As soon as Warner discovered her flight, they wouldbe after her. The workmen would point the way. The street--andquick--was the only chance. Noiselessly she opened the door. At the headof the steps leading to the street, she stopped long enough for a lookto right and left. Only a scattered afternoon crowd--no Warner, no Byan.An Eighth Avenue tram-car was ringing its gong violently. On a suddenimpulse of safety, she shot down the steps, ran past her own door to thecorner. An open southbound car had drawn up, was taking on passengers.She reached it just as the conductor was about to give the forwardsignal, and was almost jerked off her feet as she stepped onto theplatform. Steadying herself, she looked, in the brief moment afforded bythe bumpy crossing of the car, down the side street.
The entrances of her own house at the corner, the entrances to the houseshe had just left, were blank and undisturbed; no one was following her.She paid her fare, and settled down on the end of a cross-seat.
And now she was aware not of relief or reaction or fear, but solely ofher headache. It had changed in character. It had become a furiousinternal bombardment of her brows. If she turned her eyes to right orleft, she seemed to be dragging weights across the front of her brain.Yet this headache did not seem quite a part of herself. It was as thoughshe knew, by a supernormal sensitiveness, the symptoms of someone else.It was as though suddenly she had become two people. Anyway, it hadceased to be personal. And somewhere else within her head was growing adelicious feeling of freedom, of lightness, of escape from a wheel. Herevasion of the Carbonado Mining Company did not account for all that;she felt free from everything. "I'm not going to take any more rooms,"she said to herself. "I'm going to sleep out of doors now, like thebirds. People find you when you take rooms. Where shall I begin?" Sheconsidered; and then one of those little hammers of intuition seemed totap on her brain. Again, she did not resist. "Why, Washington Square ofcourse!" she said to herself.
The car was threading now the narrow ways of Greenwich Village. Itstopped; Susannah stepped off. The rest seemed for a long time to bejust wandering. But that curious sense of duality had vanished. She wasone person again. She did not find Washington Square easily; but then,it made no difference whether she ever found it. For New York and theworld were so amusing when once you were free! You could laugh ateverything--the passing crowds, surging as though business reallymattered; the Carbonado Mining Company; the grisly old fool in theirtoils, and Susannah Ayer. You could laugh even at the climate--forsometimes it seemed very hot, which was right in summer, and sometimescold, which wasn't right at all. You could laugh at the headache, whenit tied ridiculous knots in your forehead. There was theArch--Washington Square at last.
But it wasn't time to sleep in Washington Square yet. The birds hadn'tgone to bed. Sparrows were still pecking and squabbling along theborders of the flower-beds. Besides, New York was still flowing, on itshomeward surge from office and workshop, down the paths. Susannah satdown on a bench and considered. She had a disposition to stay there--whywas she so weak? Oh, of course she hadn't eaten. People always haddinner before going to bed. She must eat--and she had money. She shookout her pocketbook into her lap. A ten-dollar bill, a one-dollar bill,and some small change. She must dine gloriously--free creatures alwaysdid that when they had money. Besides, she was never going to pay anymore room rent. Susannah rose, strolled up Fifth Avenue. The crowd wasthinning out. That was pleasant, too. She disliked to get out of the wayof people. She was crossing Twenty-third Street now; and now she wasbefore the correct, white facade of the Hague House. A proper andexpensive place for dinner.
Susannah found it very hard to speak to the waiter. It was like talkingto someone through a partition. It seemed difficult even to move herlips; they felt wooden.
"A petite marmite, please; then I'll see what more I want," she heardherself saying at last.
But when the petite marmite came, steaming in its big, red casserole,she found herself quite disinclined to eat--almost unable to eat. Shemanaged only two or three mouthfuls of the broth; then dallied with thebeef. Perhaps it was because instantly--and for no reason whatever--shehad become two people again. Perhaps it was because she had beendrinking so much ice-water. It couldn't be because H. Withington Warnerwas sitting at the next table to the right. It couldn't be that--becauseshe had told him, when first she saw him sitting there, that she was nolonger afraid of the Carbonado Company. And indeed, when she turned tothe left and saw him sitting there also--when by degrees she discoveredthat there was one of him at every table in the room, she thought ofAlice in the Trial Scene in Wonderland, and became as contemptuous asAlice. "After all," she said, "you're only a pack of cards."
With a flourish, the waiter set the dinner-card before her, asking:"What will you have next, Madame?" Oh yes, she was dining!
"I think I can't eat any more--the bill, please," she heard one of herselves saying. That self, she discovered, took calm cognizance ofeverything about her; listened to conversation. As the waiter turned hisback, that half of her saw that Mr. Warner wasn't there any more;neither at the table on her right, nor anywhere. But when she had paidthe bill, tipped, and risen to go, the other self discovered that he wasback again at every table; and that with every Warner was a Byan and anO'Hearn. "I am snapping my fingers at them, though nobody sees it," shesaid to both her selves. "I can't imagine how they ever troubled me somuch. They don't know what I'm doing! I'm sleeping out of doors; theycan find me only in rooms!" As though staggered by her completecomposure, not one of this triplicate multitude of enemies followed heroutside.
"Now I'll go to Washington Square," she said, realizing that herpersonalities had merged again. "The birds must be in bed." She took abus; and sank into languor and that curious, impersonal headache untilthe conductor, calling "All out," at the south terminus, recalled to herthat she was going somewhere. "I must have been asleep," she thought."Isn't this a wonderful world?"
The long, early summer twilight was just beginning to draw about theworld. The day lingered though--in an exquisite luminousness. All aroundher the city was grappling tentatively with oncoming dusk. On a few ofthe passing limousines, the front lamps struck a garish note. Near, theFifth Avenue lights were like slowly burning bonfires in the trees; inthe distance, seemingly suspended by chains so delicate that they wereinvisible, they diminished to pots of gold. The six-o'clock rush hadlong ago ceased. Now everyone sauntered; for everyone was freshlycaparisoned for the wonderful night glories of midsummer Manhattan.
Susannah sat down on a bench in Washington Square and surveyed this freeworld. Though her eyes burned, they saw crystal-clear. All about herItalian-town mixed democratically with Greenwich Vi
llage; madecontrasting color and noise. Fat Italian mothers, snatching thepost-sunset breezes, chattered from bench to bench while they nursedbabies. On other benches, lovers clasped hands. Children played over thegrass. The birds twittered and the trees murmured. Every color dartedpricklingly distinct to Susannah's avid eyes, burning and heavy thoughit was. Every sound came distinct to her avid ears, though it soundedthrough a ringing.
The Fifth Avenue busses were clumping and lumbering in swift successionto their stopping-places. How much, Susannah thought, they looked likeprehistoric beetles; colossally big; armored to an incredible hardnessand polish. And, already, roped-off crowds of people were patientlywaiting upstairs seats. As each bus stopped, there came momentaryscramble and confusion until inside and out they filled up. She watchedthis process for a long, long time.
"I can't go to sleep yet," she said to herself finally, "the peoplewon't let me. One can't sleep in this wonderful world. Where does one goafter dinner? Oh, to the theater, of course! On Broadway!" She foundherself drifting, happily though languorously, through the arch andnorthward.
Twilight had settled down; had become dusk; had become night. New Yorkwas so brilliant that it almost hurt. It was deep dusk and yet theatmosphere was like a purple river flowing between stiff canyon-likebuildings. Everywhere in that purple river glittered golden lights. And,floating through it, were mermaids and mermen of an extreme beauty.Susannah passed from Fifth Avenue to Broadway. She stopped under one ofthe most brilliant palace-fronts of light, and bought a ticket in thefront row. The curtain was just rising on the second act of a musicalcomedy. Susannah would have been hazy about the plot anyway, for thesimple reason that there was no plot. But tonight she was peculiarlyhazy, because she enjoyed the dancing so much that she became obliviousto everything else. Indeed, at times she seemed to be dancing with thedancers. The illusion was so complete that she grew dizzy; and clung tothe arm of her seat. She did not want to divide into two people again.
After a while, though, this sensation disappeared in a more intriguingone. For suddenly she discovered that the audience consisted entirely ofher and the Carbonado Mining Company. H. Withington Warners, by thehundred, filled the orchestra seats. Byans, by the score, filled thebalcony. O'Hearns, by the dozen, filled the gallery. But this did notperturb her. "You're only a pack of cards," she accused them mentally.And she stayed to the very end.
"I thought so," she remarked contemptuously as she turned to go out. Forthe Carbonado Mining Company had vanished into thin air. She was theonly real person who left the theater.
When she came out on the street again, her headache had stopped and thelanguor was over. There was a beautiful lightness to her whole body.That lightness impelled her to walk with the crowd. But--she suddenlydiscovered--she was not walking. She was _floating_. She even flew--onlyshe did not rise very high. She kept an even level, about a foot abovethe pavement; but at that height she was like a feather. And in awink--how this extraordinary division happened, she could not guess--shewas two people once more.
New York was again blooming; but this time with its transient, vivaciousafter-the-theater vividness. Crowds were pouring up; pouring down,deflecting into side streets; emerging from side streets. Everywhere waslight. Taxicabs and motors raced and spun and backed and turned; theychurned, sizzled, spluttered, and foamed--scattering light. Tram-cars,the low-set, armored cruisers of Broadway, flashed smoothly past,overbrimming with light. The tops of the buildings held greatcongregations of dancing stars. Light poured down their sides.
Susannah floated with the strong main current of the crowd up Broadwayand then, with a side current, a little down Broadway. Eddies took herinto Forty-second Street, and whirled her back. And all the time she wasin the crowd, but not of it--she was above it. She was looking down onpeople--she could see the tops of their heads. Susannah kept chucklingover an extraordinary truth she discovered.
"I must remember to tell Glorious Lutie," she said to herself, "how fewpeople ever brush their hats."
While one self was noting this amusing fact, however, the other waslistening to conversations; the snatches of talk that drifted up to her.
"Let's go to a midnight show somewhere," a peevish wife-voice suggested.
"No, _sir_!" a gruff husband-voice answered. "Li'l' ole beddo lookspretty good to muh. I can't hit the hay too soon."
"What's Broadway got on Market Street?" a blithe boy's voice demanded."Take the view from Twin Peaks at night. Why, it has Broadway beat fortyways from the jack."
"I'll say so!" a girl's voice agreed.
Theaters were empty now, but restaurants were filling. In an incrediblyshort time, this phantasmagoria of movement, this kaleidoscope of color,this hurly-burly of sound had shattered, melted, fallen to silence.People disappeared as though by magic from the street; now there weregreat gaps of sidewalk where nobody appeared. Susannah--both of her,because now she seemed to have become two people permanently--feltlonely. She quickened her pace, her floating rather, to catch up with afigure ahead. It was a girl, just an everyday girl, in a white linensuit and a white sailor hat topping a mass of black hair. She carried ahandbag. Susannah found herself following, step by step, behind thisgirl whose face she had as yet not seen. She was floating; yet everytime she tried to see the top of that sailor hat her vision becameblurred. It was annoying; but this stealthy pursuit was pleasant,somehow--satisfying.
"They've been shadowing me," said Susannah to herself. "Now I'mshadowing. I've helped the Carbonado Company to rob orphans. I'm goingto break my promise to go to Jamaica tomorrow. Isn't it glorious tofloat and be a criminal!"
So she followed westward on Forty-second Street and reached the PublicLibrary corner of Fifth Avenue, which stretched now deserted exceptwhere knots of people awaited the omnibusses. Such a knot had gatheredon that corner. Suddenly the girl in white raised her hand, waved; awoman in a light-blue summer evening gown answered her signal from thecrowd; they ran toward each other. They were going to have a talk.Susannah floated toward them. The air-currents made her a littlewabbly--but wasn't it fun, eavesdropping and caring not the least bitabout manners!
"My train doesn't start until one," said the white linen suit. "It's nouse going back to my room--the night is so hot. I've been to the SummerGarden, and I'm killing time."
"Oh," asked blue dress, "did you sublet your room?"
"No," said the white linen suit, "I'll be gone for only a month, and Idecided it wasn't worth while. I'll have it all ready when I get back.I've even left the key under the rug in the hall."
"I wouldn't ever do that!" came the voice of the blue dress.
"Well," said the linen suit, "you know _me_! I always lose keys. I'mconvinced that when I get to Boston, I shan't have my trunk key! Andthere isn't much to steal."
"Still, I'd feel nervous if I were you."
"I don't see why. Nobody stays up on the top floor, where I am--that is,in the summer. All the other rooms are in one apartment, and the youngman who lives there has been away for ages. The people on the groundfloor own the house. I get the room for almost nothing by taking care ofit and the hall. I haven't seen anyone else on the floor since the manin the apartment went away. That's why I love the place--you feel soindependent!"
"I think I know the house," said blue dress. "The old house with thefanlight entrance, isn't it? Mary Merle used to have a ducky little flaton the second floor, didn't she?"
"Yes--Number Fifty-seven and a Half--"
Susannah was floating down the Avenue now. But floating with moredifficulty. Why was there effort about floating? And why did she keeprepeating, "Number Fifty-seven and a Half, Washington Square, top floor,key under the rug?"
She met few people. A policeman stared at her for a moment, then turnedindifferently away. How surprising that her floating made no impressionupon him! But then, there was no law against floating! Once she driftedpast H. Withington Warner, who was staring into a shop window. He didnot see her. Susannah had to inhibit her chuckles when, floating a footabove his
head, she realized for the first time that he dyed his hair.Why could she see that? He should have his hat on--or was she seeingthrough his hat?
She was passing under the arch into Washington Square. But she wasn'tfloating any longer. She was dragging weights; she was wading throughsomething like tar, which clung to her feet. She was coughing violently.She had been coughing for a long time. Night in New York was no longerbeautiful; glorious. Tragic horrors were rasping in her head. There wasWarner. And there was Byan. She could not snap her fingers at themnow.... But she knew how to get away from them ... she must rest....
She cut off a segment of Washington Square, looking for a number. Therewas a fanlight; and, plain in the street lamps, seeming for a moment theonly object in the world, the number "Fifty-seven and a Half." The outerdoor gave to her touch. A dim point of gaslight burned in the hall. Shefloated again for a minute as she mounted the stairs.... She was beforea door.... She was on her hands and knees fumbling under the rug.... Shewas dragging herself up by the door-knob....
The key opened the door.
Light, streaming from somewhere in the backyard areas, illuminated awide white bed.
"I am sick, Glorious Lutie--I think I am very sick," said Susannah."Watch me, won't you? Keep Warner out!" Fumbling in the bag, she drewout the miniature, set it up against the mirror on the bureau beside thebed--just where she could see it plainly in the shaft of light.
She locked the door. She lay down.
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