Yes—that was it. Why hadn’t she noticed it right away? Hegel—oh you holy innocence!
And was Thomas blind? Didn’t he see what those set shoulders, those large hands, that stern mouth—this whole composite of oblique, scurrilous beauty—what all this meant? Wasn’t there anyone in this inert little town with eyes in his head and enough moral gumption to run this she-wolf to the devil?
She looked at Thomas, who was prattling on unconcernedly. Her course of action was clear. She was not predatory, she told herself. She would have left Thomas to his own devices if only some good would result from them. As it was, erasing this unnatural triangle and saving his unsuspecting hide for something healthier were a necessity.
Thomas finally closed his books and put away his notes. Petra came up to shake Elinor’s hand and to tell her how glad she was to see her; and all the while she burned to be off and to take Vlasta up to her own room so as to describe Elinor’s morning face caked in white plaster, Elinor’s lacy robe, and the toenail polish.
Thomas took Vlasta by the hand and presented her. “This is Vlasta Rehan,” he said dotingly. “Vlasta, I should like you to meet a famous American writer, Elinor Simpson.”
“My English is very poor,” Vlasta smiled politely. “You speak German, perhaps?”
“Your English will do,” stated Elinor, and thought, I wonder if she knows that I know. She certainly isn’t letting on. “You like it here?”
“Mr. Thomas Benda is very kind to me,” said Vlasta. Thomas’s face spread with pleasure.
“You seem to like Petra very much, too.”
Vlasta’s brows questioned. “Naturally. A teacher must like her student, or she cannot teach well.”
“I’m happy you feel that way,” Elinor said emphatically… “I like Petra, too; I like all the Bendas. They’re a very close-knit family. You must have some wonderful qualities to have been accepted by them.”
“Thank you,” Vlasta nodded curtly. “I shall see you at dinner?”
“I’ll be here, too,” Thomas said cheerily.
Vlasta spoke to him in Czech.
Elinor asked, “What’s she saying?”
“She’s telling me I’ve spent all afternoon here and neglected my own work.” He laughed. “She thinks I should go home.”
“And will you?”
“I guess so.”
Scandalous, thought Elinor, the degree to which she has him under her thumb. And the show of gaiety with which she took Petra’s arm and waltzed her out of the door—just two young kids intent on having their fun! She was an accomplished actress, a female Jekyll and Hyde—or, was she actually not aware of her own compulsions? But that was impossible.
“Well, Thomas!” said Elinor, “for an escape from reality, you’ve found yourself a lovely little spot. What are you going to do next—apply for a job at the Rodnik High School?”
He sat down behind the teacher’s desk and snapped the brass cover of the inkwell open and closed, open and closed. Then he said, “It might not be a bad idea, at that.”
“You don’t seem very excited at seeing me. Have I changed?”
She was a little apprehensive of his answer, but she knew that the pills were working in her. She pushed up her face so that the curve from her chin down her throat would lose its indentations.
“To me, you’re always the same,” he said, not looking up. “And I am excited, though I may not show it. You’ve come at a very critical time of my life. How did Vlasta impress you?”
“Now listen! I’ll be in Czechoslovakia for a few weeks, maybe a month—”
“A very critical time of my life,” he said again. “Didn’t I write you what happened to the Essay?”
“You didn’t. But I’ve heard.”
“I ought to have a bad conscience,” he smiled, “towards you. I didn’t write the book you thought I’d write. I tried to tell you so at the time, but you never would believe me.”
“I’ve heard that, too,” she said.
“How do you like Vlasta? Isn’t she spectacular?”
“How’s Kitty?”
He glanced at her, his lips half-open, hurt. “There’s nothing between me and Vlasta. This is on an entirely different plane. I suppose neither you nor Kitty would understand....”
“I understand. I understand more than you think I do. I understand because you’re part of my life, because, in a certain manner, I’ve made you what you are.”
“You shouldn’t tell me that,” he said. “Besides, it’s nothing to be proud of. Look at me, the great writer, attempting to teach an adolescent about the big ideas that made the world.”
“Whom are you kidding? You’re not sitting here because you want to teach Petra. But we’ll talk about Vlasta later. First—I’ve spoken to Barsiny.”
So she had made him what he was, he thought. Well, she had done her damnedest to try. She had interfered, and interfered again, and here she was once more. What was it about him that attracted her impulse for butting in? He was no longer in his formative years, he lived his own life, bad or good, he had written his essay and had declared his independence from her, from everybody—
“Barsiny?” he said. “I hope you didn’t exert yourself to change his mind.”
“I didn’t have to. He changed it himself. He wants to print your essay.”
“No!” There was utter amazement in his tone, and a dash of triumph. Then he frowned, “You must have pressured him—you, and perhaps some other people. He was dead-set against it.”
“Of course, he insists on some cuts and editorial alterations—”
“I see....”
“Now, give up that Benda muleheadedness! Some of the things you wrote are inexcusable. But on the whole, it’s a great and important work, and it must be published.”
“When you go back to Prague, tell Barsiny that I won’t change a line.”
“You want to see it printed, don’t you?”
“Certainly!”
“Well, then!”
She was hard and demanding, and she looked it.
“Let’s stop beating around the bush, Elinor! I’ve sold out once; I won’t do it again. I’ve had my life run by other people, you among them, much too long. Now I’m free. The Essay has helped me. I’ve had to think about everything vital to myself, to man and his relationship to society and his conscience.” He stood up and banged his fist on the desk. “Now I’m free, I tell you, free!”
He was wonderful. A sweet warmth rose from her heart, her head swam a little as she looked up to him, and she felt young.
“I’ve got my work, I’ve got my days full, I’ve got Vlasta! I’m free, I’m happy! Don’t you see?” He sat down. Condescendingly, he tapped her hand. Professor Stanek has read my manuscript and passed it on to Vaclav Villner of People’s Books. It looks as if they’re going to publish it—and publish it as is!”
Her face had collapsed.
“You saved my life once,” he said gently. “I was grateful. I’ve paid my debt.”
“I’ll never forget this.” Her voice was cracking. “If you come back crawling on your knees—I’ll never forget it.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LIDA stood idle in her packing room, her head cocked as if the words that had been spoken to her somehow still wafted through the dusty air. What do you gain by saving yourself and your bric-a-brac, if you lose your child?
Elinor had broken in a second time and made her listen. She had gone on doing her work, but after a while her hands had ceased to move; then had begun the painful process of making space in her crowded mind for a new and upsetting complex of thought.
Lida stepped to the window and cautiously pushed aside the shade. Elinor was just getting into the cab to catch the train back to Prague. Don’t bother to take me to the gate! You’ve got things to do! Do them! That had been her farewell. What a woman! What eyes! What intelligence! How quickly Elinor had recognized and put her finger on what she, herself, would not have dreamed of suspecting! Well, Elinor had be
en all over the world and probably had seen everything disgusting and abnormal there was to see.
With a sigh, Lida let the shade slip back into place. It was a difficult problem. As long as Elinor stomped about, talking loudly, ordering, it had appeared as logical and as easy as one-two-three. Now Lida was alone, no one to help her. And on the table were still piled hundreds of valuables which had to be cleaned and wrapped and packed—part of the silver; the coin collection of Jaroslav Vesely; the jewelry Peter Benda had given to his wife Anna, old-fashioned designs, but with excellent stones; a hand-carved chess set of the finest ivory; a bundle of bond issues of Skoda in Pilsen, worthless now, but one day, perhaps, they might again sell for the amount printed on their face, or for more.
It was a hard thing to do, it was hard to believe, even of Vlasta, who had been foisted on her by Joseph and Thomas and Karel. Hadn’t they noticed it? A pretty face, and the Benda men turned somersaults; but as for seeing what was behind it, that was expecting too much.
She had heard of such women; she wasn’t born yesterday. But it was so vicious, so reprehensible, so vile that one didn’t think of it, and certainly didn’t think of its touching one’s own home, one’s own child. It was in line with all the other ills cropping up in this time; when they can take away a man’s property unpunished, the floodgates are opened and the swill and the muck from the bottom whirl up.
And yet, if you looked at Vlasta, if you watched her move about the house, so quiet and dignified and unapproachable....Lida’s face puckered in disgust and in doubt.
But that was just it! A normal woman come to live under your roof would behave normally; she would chat with you and talk about herself and laugh and try to help you in small ways—after all, she was being paid, and paid well! But not Vlasta. She was secretive and kept to herself, she never was really friendly to you, and she warmed up only when Petra was with her. She gave you a strange and puzzling sensation. Lida wrinkled her brows—if I weren’t so busy packing, if I had more than a few weeks here or, at best, a month, I shouldn’t have needed a woman from America to tell me what’s going on under my own nose.
With that, Lida began to cry a little. She sat down at the table and, tears in her eyes, searched for the tiny ring with the spot of pale blue turquoise. She found it and fondled it and reached for a piece of rag to wipe the gold clean. Joseph had given it to Petra on her third or fourth birthday—such a cunning thing, where were the fingers it had fitted? And why had all this been destroyed? Why was she sitting here, on the rubbish heap of her happiness?
She’d never been one to let herself be swept away by her misery. With her, despondence soon turned into a slow, silent rage, and the rage found its outlet in action. She put aside the ring and, locking the room behind her, walked down the corridor.
The large house lay still. Undecided, Lida waited and listened: Nowhere a voice, from nowhere a footstep. She suddenly felt ill-dressed; her face and hands were dirty with the traces of her work. For days now, she had slaved away at her job, hardly taking time out to eat, rarely changing her clothes. One might think that Petra would have been concerned and once, at least, have shown some feeling about her mother! Petra and Vlasta had had their meals with her, and never so much as a question had been asked. Lida’s eyes grew small with hate—the intruder’s insidious influence had gone far, indeed!
Slowly, then faster, then almost running, Lida mounted the stairs and rounded the corner to her bedroom. She ripped off her soiled clothes and left them where they fell; she let the water pour into the basin and scrubbed her face till it was red. She washed her hands again and again, she washed off the perspiration in her armpits and dried herself carefully. Then she combed her hair thoroughly and used her fingers in an effort to recreate her long-neglected waves. She put on fresh underwear and with great deliberation picked a dark, severe, high-necked dress. Now she felt differently! She powdered her nose and lipsticked her mouth and dabbed Eau de Cologne at her temples and at the soft skin behind her ears. A last critical look in the mirror—she was ready to tackle anything and to defend herself and her child.
Without knocking, she tore open the door to Petra’s room.
Petra jumped up. “What’s the matter, Mother? You’re not ill?”
“No, thank you. I’m not ill.” Lida realized that her tenseness showed on her face. She smiled thinly and, with one look, took in the situation. Vlasta was standing with her back to the window, her hands on the sill; Petra had been sprawling on the crumpled bed; an open book lay on the floor.
“Well, what have you two been doing?”
“Talking!” said Petra. “The weather is keeping us in.”
Lida was thinking rapidly. Outwardly, all was in order—just two girls in a room, gabbing away, the adolescent nonsense, probably, that appealed to Petra. Lida’s eyes went roving. She tried to find some clue, something on which to hang her suspicions, something which could serve as the starting point for what she must say. There was nothing.
She tried to remember what Elinor had told her. They’re very clever. The obvious ones are no danger. But those who aren’t...You have to have seen a lot of them before you can identify them at a glance.
A fine blush colored Vlasta’s delicate face. It was the first time she was being checked on. “We were just about to go downstairs to get some tea,” she said.
“Oh, were you?” said Lida. “I hope, Miss Rehan, you don’t mind my disturbing you like this....” Elinor could be mistaken. Lida controlled the shudder that wanted to run down her spine. Accusing a woman of such a vice would more than destroy her career, it might destroy her life! But what about Lida’s own career, her own life—who’d ever cared about that? She glared at Vlasta. She saw the face carried high, the proud mouth, the silver heart dangling between the breasts; she felt again the strange and puzzling sensation, a kind of spell that went out from the girl and made you want to be kind to her. Yes, she was beautiful, but her very beauty was the proof of her depravity, and the spell she cast was the hallmark of her evil.
“It was no disturbance at all,” said Vlasta, her eyes clouded. She did not like the long silences. Mrs. Benda obviously had come on some errand, something important, some announcement; her appearance was not as sloppy as usual; she had primed herself for whatever it was she had to make known, but was holding back. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Benda? Has anything come up?”
“Yes,” Lida said slowly, “a very grave matter.” She did not go on. She was a little taken aback by Vlasta’s apparent willingness to co-operate; it didn’t fit into the picture; a person of this kind ought to be so full of bad conscience, of fear of being found out, that it should show by now. Then she recalled Elinor’s warning: She’s a consummate actress. Don’t hesitate. Confront her with the truth. They all crack up under it. Bless Elinor. What settled it was the ease with which the person stood there, leaning against the window sill, as if nothing were happening, as if she didn’t know that she was at the point of being unmasked.
“Miss Rehan!”
“Yes?”
“I’m afraid—”
Lida hesitated. She couldn’t come out with the blunt truth in front of Petra. A child—one must think of the later years. The hurts of childhood have a habit of coming back to haunt. They come back and have grown like underwater plants, lush, ill-shaped, and stinking. Yet Lida saw no other way. Petra had to know. Calling the intruder to account without Petra to witness it, to understand it, to comprehend as much of the woman’s devilishness as the child could, would mean that she had failed in her duty as a mother. It would mean that forever after, Petra would hold it against her that she took Vlasta away; Petra would ask questions, and even if one told her the truth, she would not believe it, and would carry in her the grudge.
Lida stepped deeper into the room, close to Petra. “I’m afraid, Miss Rehan,” she said, “your employment in this house is terminated as of now. I will pay your fare to Prague, and your salary to the end of February.”
“May I ask
—” Vlasta stood pale, her lips drawn in, her eyes large.
Petra had rushed to Vlasta and was clinging to her and was saying in a pressed voice, “You won’t take her away. I love her. I won’t permit it. I’ll go with her!”
With two steps, Lida was at Petra’s side, pulling her from Vlasta, holding on to her wrist. “Yes, you may ask, Miss Rehan!” she said sharply. “I wish you would ask.” And since Vlasta seemed unable to find the right words, Lida cried out, “You don’t belong here—”
Petra was tearing at her mother’s hand to get free. But the vise held. Packing and shifting heavy boxes and loaded trunks had turned Lida’s arms and hands into muscles and sinews and calluses. Petra had to give in. She stood rooted, waiting for the moment when the grip would relax, freezing up with fright, refusing to believe that all this was real, and yet sensing that something beyond her power to perceive was rolling in on her.
“You don’t belong here, Miss Rehan,” Lida said more quietly. “I must protect my family.”
Vlasta shook her head slightly. Her eyes regained their even expression. “But you’re mistaken, Mrs. Benda! You don’t have to be afraid of me. I didn’t encourage anyone.”
“It makes no difference.”
“The few times I’ve seen your husband, I’ve kept strictly away from him. And as for Thomas Benda—he’s very considerate, and I’ve a lot of sympathy for him. But beyond that—” Her slender fingers interlocked. “I have very little interest in men, and none at all in the men of your family.”
“But in my daughter!” said Lida cuttingly. “Filth!” She felt suddenly very sure of herself, strong and clean and superior.
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