The Golden Cup

by Belva Plain

  “There’s no talking to you,” Freddy said. “We might as well be speaking in Bulgarian or Urdu. Maybe I’d better leave the table. I can’t eat anything anyway, and whatever I say offends you.”

  At once Dan’s tone softened. “Sit down, Freddy. Sit down. All right, I know I get emotional. I’m too noisy, I’ll admit. But I have strong feelings and, especially in these times, they’re hard to control.”

  “Freddy has strong feelings too,” Leah remarked. “Gerald was his friend.”

  “I understand that.” Dan reached out to touch his son’s arm. “I’m terribly sorry you’ve lost your friend. God knows I’m sorry that any young man should die. It’s just that I view it as tragedy, and can’t see glory in it. Especially when men on every side are making fortunes out of the horror.”

  Hennie served the bread pudding and cleared the table. Quaking inwardly, she had to keep moving, and refused Leah’s help. Her thoughts were confused and fearful. It was spring; by this time each year Freddy had already found a summer job; but, so far now, he had said nothing about work. She had not dared—why had she not dared? she asked herself—to question him.

  He had grown away, which was proper and to be expected, especially in view of that subtle secret aversion that, in spite of Dan’s love, had long existed between him and Freddy. Mysterious and always painful it was to Hennie, but in the end accepted; now they were simply growing farther apart. Farther from me, too, she thought, and although I tell myself that it is natural and wholesome for his attachment to me to loosen, why is it that I—and Dan as well—can still talk to Paul and reach him?

  When they were undressing for bed, she asked Dan, “Do you suppose he would go to Canada or do anything crazy like that?”

  “He has another year of college. That’s a comfort.”

  “And then graduate school. He’s been saving money toward it, so he wouldn’t, would he?”

  Dan didn’t answer.

  Leah was singing in her room across the hall. Smiling, Freddy put down the Greek text to listen. She was singing an aria from Aida and was only slightly out of tune. He thought of the festive day during Christmas vacation when he had taken her to hear it, and of how entranced she had been. He had really wanted to take her someplace again during this vacation week, but midterm exams were coming up and he needed every minute for study.

  Closing his eyes, he lay back in the armchair. Concentration on Greek print strained them, no matter what anyone said. Yet his skill with the wonderful ancient language thrilled him. He was learning to enter the ancient world; he could actually see it and feel it, all bronze, purple, and sunstruck; he could touch the hot stone of its great barbaric temples and hear the voices of its keen philosophers. And he smiled again, this time recalling all those discussions he’d had with Gerald about Cambridge and about whether to stay with the classics or become a medievalist. He missed those long discussions, missed Gerald with pain of loss and joy of remembrance. Often he would ask himself what Gerald would think: about a book, a person, or an event. He wondered now what Gerald would think of his little Leah, who was so un-English in her blunt, lively ways.

  She was bustling around in her room, bumping and knocking. Then suddenly there came a dreadful crash and an exclamation: “Damn!”

  Freddy jumped up. Through the half-open door he saw her kneeling on the floor next to an overturned bureau drawer, the contents of which were strewn around her. She was laughing.

  “What an idiot! It was stuck and I pulled it out too far!”

  “Let me help you.” He began to pick things up; then, seeing what it was that he had in his hand, he dropped it. “Well, perhaps you’d better—” he started to say, but was interrupted by more laughter.

  “Maybe I’d better, if a pair of silk bloomers can make you blush! Go look at yourself!”

  Instead, he looked at her. She had on a robe, a bathrobe, he supposed, but unlike any he’d ever seen, that is, unlike his mother’s or grandmother’s. It was light blue, with blue feathery stuff at the collar and hem; when she leaned forward, getting up off her knees, it gaped open on top. Her breasts swung heavily under the silk.

  “What are you staring at, Freddy?”

  “What you’ve got on. Those feathers,” he said awkwardly.

  “It’s marabou, and awfully expensive. My boss let me have it because somebody burned a hole in the back with the pressing iron. You like it?”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  He stood and watched her. She moved quickly, scooping the clothes back into the drawer. When she was finished, he picked up the drawer and replaced it in the chest.

  “What are you going to do now?” she asked.

  “Study some more, I guess.”

  “Haven’t you studied enough? You haven’t done another thing all week.”

  “I know, but I have to.”

  “Take a few minutes off. I feel like having some tea and a piece of cake. I’m bored.”

  “You could have gone to the theater with the folks. They’d have gotten a ticket for you.”

  “But I would rather be here with you.”

  He saw that she wasn’t teasing him this time, as she so often did. When was it that she had begun to tease him? He didn’t know exactly; it had happened so gradually. He knew only that she wasn’t the same Leah as the one who had grown up with him.

  “I’ll fix a tray and bring it to your room. It’s nicer than having it in the kitchen.”

  He waited for her, feeling a new kind of excitement. And when had that begun? Had he been feeling it, or had it just come now, when she had purposely let him see her breasts?

  She plunked the tray on the desk, sweeping the books aside. Noisy and swift in everything she did, she fascinated him. It’s because she’s so unlike me, he thought; I wish I were as sturdy and sure of myself as she is.

  They ate without talking much, she because she was hungry, and he because these thoughts were swirling in his head. When they were finished, he heard himself sigh.

  “What’s the matter, Freddy? You sighed.”

  “Sometimes I do.”

  “What is it? Aren’t you happy?”

  “Sometimes yes and sometimes no.”

  “Well, that’s only natural, isn’t it?” She licked icing from her lips and brushed crumbs from her lap. “One can’t be happy all the time. Although you should be, if anybody should. You’ve got everything.”

  “I?” he repeated in astonishment.

  “Yes. To begin with, you’re handsome. No, don’t wave me away. You are, and you must see it. You’re smart and educated and elegant. I wish I could have your elegance, but I never will.”

  He shook his head. “Funny, I was thinking that I’d like to be like you.”

  “I don’t believe it! In what way, for goodness’ sake?”

  “You’re so confident.”

  Leah persisted. “You’ve got parents, a home that’s really yours. Don’t you know what that’s worth?”

  There was such confusion in him! The tension of being with her in his own intimate room, his strange inner stirrings, mixed with a wistful melancholy—all was confusion.

  “I do know,” he answered finally. And without planning to say it, he added, “But things aren’t usually what they seem.”

  A touch of irony twisted Leah’s lips just long enough for him to recognize it.

  “A trite remark,” he apologized.

  “That’s not why I smiled. I was remembering a time when your father told me the same thing. And for an instant you looked like him.”

  “You don’t think I look like him, for God’s sake!”

  “You don’t, not very much. But would it be so awful if you did?”

  The conversation was leading toward something. It was as if each of them were vaguely, hesitantly, feeling his and her way toward some confession, some lifting of a mental burden.…

  He said slowly, “I’ve never understood how I really feel about my father. I’ve wanted to love him, but—there was a time
I hated him, Leah.”

  “Why? What had he done to you?”

  “Nothing directly to me. Something happened that a child shouldn’t know, that’s all. I was very young. I’ve never told anyone.”

  “You might feel better if you did,” Leah said gently.

  He bent his head. Things were swirling again. Then he felt her hand on his head.

  “I think I know what it was. You found him with, or you found out about, a woman.”

  When, startled, he looked up, he saw comprehension. “I’ve often wondered how much you knew about him,” she said.

  Her hand moved to his shoulder and lay there. He was sure he could feel the warmth of it through his sleeve; he was sure he could trust in anything she might tell him.

  “I was riding on a bus a couple of years ago, and he was there with a woman. They were—well, she was kissing him. It was—”

  “Go on,” he said.

  “Your mother thought he’d been working or something. He was scared to death that I’d tell her.”

  “And you never did.”

  “Can you think I would? She never knew. She never will. I could swear that he doesn’t do that kind of thing anymore, though.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We had a long talk afterward, he and I.”

  A composite picture took shape in the air. His father is kissing a woman, a cheap type with a painted face; he is waving his arms on top of a burning house; he is giving a speech, and the audience is respectful before his dark suit and his dignity; he withers in guilt before Leah’s tongue—

  “With me it was what I heard,” he said. “It was in the room over the lab. I didn’t see, I didn’t have to see. I ran all the way home. For a long time I couldn’t even look at him.”

  “Poor child!” Her breath was fragrant with lemon as she leaned to him. “You kept it inside of you all these years!”

  “Whom was I going to tell?”

  “You could have told Paul. You’re so close to him.”

  “It would have seemed like shaming my mother to let anyone know, even Paul.”

  “But you don’t mind telling me now.”

  “No,” he said, marveling. “Not at all. Suddenly, not at all.”

  “And you are relieved.”

  “Yes, strangely enough I am. You’ve taken the weight away.”

  “It’s not strange, Freddy. Don’t you know that we’re special people, you and I? Haven’t you felt it all this past year?” The words drifted away into the still air.

  They rose to stand only inches apart. He thought: It’s said that lovers see each other’s reflection in their eyes. For an instant, then, he caught his own image in two jet circles, and saw nothing more as her arms drew him in. A crazy joy sprang up in him, while his heart drummed.

  “I love you, Leah.…”

  Her mouth drew him; it wanted him; it was sweet; he had never known such sweetness. He had no idea how long the kiss lasted. The alarm clock ticked; silk rustled in his ears. Her mouth still held him.

  When her lips released his, he had been gently propelled toward the bed. In a dream and a dazzle, he heard her whisper:

  “Now, Freddy, now.”

  The heat, the roundness, the whole secret softness—these were his to take! He hadn’t asked, heaven knew he wouldn’t have dared to think of asking, and yet here she was giving it all!

  His nerves stretched, quivering. He wanted her, and still, suddenly, he feared. Kissing was one thing, but this—from this he held back. Why?

  “Not until we’re married,” he heard himself say.

  “Freddy … I’m not afraid.”

  “Darling Leah, I can’t do that to you.”

  With her silence she questioned him.

  “I should want you to remember all your life that you were a proper bride.”

  There was truth enough in that, the truth of a decent young man who wouldn’t “take advantage.” But at the same time he was afraid for himself, because it ought to be harder for him to resist and it wasn’t. Again: Why?

  “I understand,” she said. Two charming dimples accompanied her smile. “You’re very good to me, Freddy … and you really love me enough to marry me. You really do.”

  “Maybe I always have and wasn’t old enough to know it.”

  He kissed her forehead. Her head came just to his shoulder. Just nineteen she was, and his own for life. He felt tender, he felt responsible and older than his twenty-one years, as if youth and dependency had dropped away. The smallness of her, and the way she clung to him, fitting into his shoulder, made him feel his own size and strength as he had never felt them before. How fast it had happened! An hour ago his exams had been at the top of his mind; he’d been a schoolboy, Yale or no Yale; and now he was a man, with a woman to care for.

  There’d be a whole new life with her; it would take getting used to, but it would be beautiful, and that odd fear of a few minutes ago would be nothing.

  Leah looked up in alarm. “Your parents—”

  “We won’t tell them yet,” he said quickly. “I have to graduate first. Time enough then.”

  “But your father won’t like me anymore then. He was never happy about me in the first place, a stranger in his house. And after my seeing him that day—”

  He put his hand over her mouth. “Darling, it’s not worth your words. He can have his life as he wants it, and we can have ours.”

  They heard a fumbling at the front door.

  “They’re home!”

  Leah lifted her long skirt and ran. Blue marabou flew across the hall and vanished. He closed his door, and went back to his books.

  Blue marabou and black eyes danced on the pages. Oh, how bright and funny she was! And she thought she wasn’t “elegant”! He had to laugh out loud. She was the dearest thing! And when their time came, surely it would be splendid, because it would be their right time, and he would be ready for it.

  He couldn’t believe his luck.

  4

  Carrie Chapman Catt had founded the Women’s Peace Party at Washington in January 1915; shortly afterward the New York branch was formed. Hennie promptly joined and was elected an officer. She was full of proud enthusiasm.

  “If women had the vote all over the world, you’d hear a different story,” she liked to say. “We wouldn’t vote money for guns, I guarantee. Women are different, we’re not enthralled by power and force. Not,” she would add, “that all men are, either. Certainly not men like my husband.”

  She went to all the meetings, spoke at many, and was complimented on her eloquence. She made posters and went about the city placing them in store windows or wherever anyone would accept them. All this activity gave her a good feeling that, in her own small way, she was building peace. Brick after patient brick, she told herself, but we are building.

  Late one Saturday afternoon she came home from a meeting at which she had spoken, she knew, unusually well—setting forth a plan for extensive publicity in the popular magazines.

  She was euphoric as she took a long walk home, bypassing the bus. It was a tender late afternoon, still very cool. The western sky was overlaid with coral fire. On a street corner she stopped to buy tulips from a vendor. Pink and white, with satin sheen, they were a rare extravagance, but it was spring, she argued, and there ought to be some celebration of it.

  When she unlocked the apartment door, she was surprised to find Freddy in the kitchen with Dan, who, still in his topcoat, had apparently just come in. Freddy, kneeling, was filling Strudel’s bowl.

  “But how nice! We didn’t expect you this weekend. You didn’t say—”

  “I know. I started at the crack of dawn. How are you, Mother?”

  “Oh, fine! I’m late, I just got out of a meeting. I suppose you’re starved. But I only have to warm dinner. I made it all this morning.”

  “Don’t make any for me or for Leah. She and I—”

  “Leah!” Dan interrupted. “You give with one hand and take away with the other. Have you
come home to be with her or to give your parents a few hours?”

  “To be with her,” Freddy said quietly.

  Hennie’s heart sank. Not again. Don’t let them quarrel again.

  The muscles were tight in Dan’s neck as he stared at Freddy.

  “Did I really hear that? If I did hear it correctly, I don’t understand it.”

  Freddy’s hand had been caressing the dog, sliding over its long brown back while it ate. He looked up, then rose from his knees and said, “I love her.”

  Dan sat down. And Hennie, with coat and hat still on, stood looking from one to the other, then, for some idiotic reason, at the clock, on which the long black minute hand jerked through half a minute before anyone spoke another word.

  Dan said roughly, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think I do. And I beg you, don’t say anything that I won’t want to remember.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, then? Do you mind telling us?”

  Hennie pressed her hand to her heart. Under the woolen coat she could feel it pounding.

  “I’m talking about Leah, whom I love. I asked you not to say anything I won’t want to remember.”

  Dan softened his voice as if, Hennie thought, he had sensed something in Freddy that warned him really seriously to guard his anger.

  “I’m not going to say anything evil, Freddy. You ought to know me better than that. Leah’s fine. Haven’t I been good to her? Raised her here in this house? I’m only telling you that you’re too inexperienced to be talking about love, that’s all.”

  “You weren’t that much older when you fell in love with Mother.”

  “As a matter of fact, I was. Twenty-four when I met her, as against your twenty-one. So you’re very young, you see, and—no offense intended—even younger than your age, too, in some ways. You lack judgment, Freddy.”

  “That’s not what my professors tell me.”

  “I daresay you and they haven’t talked much about women, or they’d tell you, too, there’s a lot you don’t understand yet.”