There was silence until he continued,
“At the same time, while you are an inspiration, the most beautiful person I have ever seen, part of the light that I am seeking and the centre of my existence, I am not at all certain what I can do about it.”
“Why should you do – anything?” Roberta asked.
She did not quite understand what he was saying and yet she knew that she wanted to help him and every word he spoke made her love him more.
Because he was not looking at her she could look at him. She knew that while he was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen, his face was different in that there was a strength and determination in it that she had never seen in any other man’s face.
It gave him almost a defiant and yet a buccaneering look which was very attractive and she thought that there was also in it an expression of power.
It was the power of a man who is fighting the whole world to proclaim his own ideals, his own faith.
“I want to – help you.”
The words seemed to come spontaneously from her lips and, even as she said them, she thought that he had already told her how she could help him, but that while she might inspire him, he still needed her as a woman.
There was silence after she had spoken.
Then Adam said quietly,
“I cannot offer you marriage.”
It was not what Roberta had expected him to say and she was suddenly tense. She knew that was what she wanted above everything else and it was why she had refused to become his mistress.
“I can hardly keep myself,” Adam went on, “let alone a wife and Danny and perhaps children of my own.”
“I – understand.”
“I have to paint, you must see that! I have to! I quarrelled with my father and he laughed at the thought of my managing on my own without him and making a success in a different field from the one he had chosen for me.”
Now there was a hardness in his voice that told Roberta without words that it had been a violent clash of temperament and this was another reason why Adam was determined to be successful.
She did not speak and, after a moment, he said,
“When I am away tomorrow, I want you to think over very carefully the position we are both in. I love you, Roberta, I love you as I have never loved any woman before and I know you are an indivisible part of me that nothing and nobody can ever separate.”
He gave a deep sigh.
“The position is at the moment that I can only beg you to stay with me and help me to prove myself. There is no other way that I can keep my self-respect and be faithful to my ideals.”
For the first time Adam turned his face to look at her.
“I love you! I worship you!” he exclaimed. “You are everything a man could want in a woman.”
His voice vibrated as he spoke and Roberta thought that she could say the same. He was everything a woman could want in a man.
Then, as they looked at each other, she could see the firelight reflected in his eyes and thought that they were flames burning within him. He rose from the sofa and walked away to stand at the open window looking at the sea.
“I am not going to touch you tonight,” he said. “I am not even going to kiss you. When I have gone I want you to think over what I have said and, please God, when I come back you will tell me what I want to hear.”
Because he spoke so quietly, the words were more moving than if he had spoken them in any other way.
Roberta clasped her hands together until the knuckles were white, forcing herself not to run to his side and throw herself into his arms.
She wanted to tell him that she loved him too, that she would stay with him and that, because they would be so happy together, he would paint better than he had ever painted before.
Then, as she wondered what she should say, what she should do, Adam said,
“Go to bed, my precious. It’s an agony I cannot endure to keep my hands from touching you until you have thought over what I have said and made your decision.”
As he spoke, he opened the door onto the veranda, went out and disappeared.
For a moment Roberta could hardly believe that he had really gone.
Then she knew that the time for talking was over and, if she joined him, he would be tempted to behave in the same way as he had last night.
Slowly she rose from the sofa, went into her bedroom, undressed and climbed to bed.
It was nearly two hours later that she heard Adam come back into the house and it was then she knew that she and Danny must go away.
Whatever Adam might say, they were a disrupting influence and, if they continued to live with him, since he was too proud to take money from her, he would have to paint more and more flowers for elderly women because they would pay him well for them.
“It’s wrong for him, I know it’s wrong!” Roberta murmured.
*
A few hours later when the dawn had not yet broken on the horizon she heard Adam moving about.
She listened to him, longing to get up and prepare his breakfast and kiss him goodbye, but she knew that it would be a mistake.
Instead, when finally she heard him leave the house, she felt as if part of herself went with him and what was left behind was a loneliness and sense of despair that was almost a physical pain.
Finding it impossible to go back to sleep she got up and started to pack her grip.
After having given Danny his breakfast, she told him that they were going away.
At first he had not understood.
“Uncle Adam’s coming back tonight, he told me so,” he said. “I want to wait here for him. I want him to teach me how to swim better.”
“I know, darling, but we have to go away,” Roberta said, “and now I want you to call me ‘Aunt Roberta’ again, and not ‘Mama’.”
“Why?”
“Because we are going to tell the truth in future,” Roberta said harshly.
She was sure that it was because she had pretended to be Danny’s mother that she had become embroiled so quickly in a situation from which she could extract herself only by running away.
Because of what she and Adam felt for each other she was certain that eventually the fire within them would have burst into flames eventually, even if he tried to treat her with the respect and gentleness that any decent man showed for a young girl.
Yet the wagon driver, then Adam himself, had both thought that because she was a widow, it was easy to approach her, and it was her fault that they had been deceived.
‘No more lies,’ she decided, ‘and in San Francisco nobody will be interested as to whether Danny is my son or my cousin, which is what he is as Aunt Margaret’s adopted child.’
When she was ready, she had one last look around the sitting room.
Perhaps she was making a mistake, she could not help wondering. Perhaps she should stay and somehow contrive that she and Danny were not a financial encumbrance on Adam.
Then she knew it would never work out that way.
It would be impossible to deceive him and, because he was fiercely proud, he would never willingly accept ‘the widow’s mite’ she had offered him.
‘I have to go!’ she decided.
While Danny was having his breakfast, she wrote Adam a short note which she had left on the table.
In it she said,
“I love you with all my heart, but Danny and I must not prevent you from reaching the goal you have set yourself and we are therefore going away.
Perhaps later when I think you have had time to achieve some of the fame that will one day be yours, I will get in touch with you.
In the meantime, I shall be praying for your success – and missing you.
Roberta.”
She put a cold supper ready for him on the kitchen table and covered it with a linen cloth.
It was an agony to think that this was the last time she could do anything for him.
Then she told herself the sooner she took the first st
ep into the unknown the better.
With a protesting and reluctant Danny beside her, she set off towards the station. Roberta knew in which direction it lay because sometimes when they were on the beach they could hear the hoot of the trains in the distance.
Yet it proved to be a longer walk than she had expected.
Once again she was finding her grip very heavy and Danny was complaining that his legs were aching before finally she saw the station ahead of them.
It was very small and there was only one porter in attendance who stared at her curiously.
He turned out to be the booking clerk as well and provided Roberta with a ticket for herself and half-fare for Danny.
Columbus, she discovered, could travel free, but it was strictly prohibited for him to sit on the seats.
“He is a very well-behaved dog,” Roberta said with a smile.
“In some trains the dogs have to travel in the guard’s van,” the porter said.
“Then I am very grateful that is not the rule on this line,” Roberta replied.
They had to wait for half-an-hour before the train arrived which was fortunately going all the way to San Francisco.
There were already quite a number of people aboard and Roberta learnt that the train had come from San Diego and stopped at all the smaller stations on the way.
She thought it would be too extravagant to travel First Class and so the carriage they found themselves in had other passengers in it.
It certainly was not so well upholstered or as comfortable as the carriage in which Roberta had travelled from New Orleans.
The other passengers seemed friendly and the men said, “howdy, ma’am!” and lifted the brim of their hats to her.
Roberta sat Danny next to the window so that he could see out and she took a seat that was between him and a man who was poring over a book.
Roberta wished she too had brought something with her to read which might prevent her from remembering that the train was carrying her further and further away from Adam and she would never see him again.
The idea made her want to cry and she forced herself to talk to Danny about the beautiful countryside they were passing through and thus try to distract her attention from her thoughts.
Danny was interested in the view only for a little while.
Then he called Columbus up beside him and putting his arms round his neck, whispered to him in a way that Roberta remembered he had done when he was hiding in the wood.
It made her remember how much had happened since her father had died and how frightening it was to be going to a strange City having no idea where she would stay or whom she could ask for advice.
Without really meaning to, she looked at the book that the man next to her was poring over and realised to her surprise that he was translating Arabic into English.
She saw there were technical terms, concerned, she thought, with trains and almost without meaning to, she read what he had written in English from the Arabic words.
It did not make sense and impulsively without thinking that she might be intruding, she said,
“Excuse me, but that word you have just translated is wrong.”
The man turned his head to stare at her and she saw that he was quite young, about thirty, wearing spectacles and looked, she thought, like a clerk.
“Wrong?” he said. “Are you saying that you can read Arabic?”
“Quite well,” Roberta replied, “and the word you have just written down as ‘letter’ means actually, ‘correspondent’.”
He stared at her as if he could not believe what he was hearing and she explained,
“‘Mukatib’ is ‘correspondent’ and ‘maktub’ is ‘letter’.”
The young man looked down at what he had written and said,
“Thank you! Thank you very much for being so helpful!”
“It is not surprising that everyone becomes confused when they first try to speak Arabic,” Roberta said, “because there are two sorts, The Classical Arabic and the Arabic of the Koran which is used frequently today, especially in commercial circles.”
The man looked down at the paper he had been writing on and asked,
“I should be very grateful, ma’am, if you would see if I have translated any other words incorrectly.”
“I am afraid there are quite a lot,” Roberta commented after a quick look.
The man pushed the piece of paper towards her and without speaking handed her his pencil.
Roberta realised that he was trying to translate a letter and it was from somebody in Africa asking about a locomotive he wished to buy.
The letter was as usual flowery and the sense of it somewhat difficult to follow, but when she had finished she understood that the correspondent was writing on behalf of one, Sheik Mahmud el Akbar, who was interested in acquiring a railway train and in particular a very fast and up to date engine.
She could see the young man who had been told to translate the letter had made a somewhat misleading mess of it.
Roberta could speak Arabic more fluently than she could write it and she wished Francine was with her who would have found not only the literal translation easy but would have subtly altered it into more understandable form.
Nevertheless, by the time she had finished which took her a little time, the translation was both intelligible and accurate and, as she handed it to the young man, he was so profuse in his thanks that she felt he was almost ready to cry in gratitude.
“It’s difficult to thank you enough, ma’am,” he said over and over again. “If I had failed to do properly what I had been told, I might easily have found myself out of a job!”
Roberta smiled.
“I cannot believe your employer could be as unfeeling as that!”
He gave a sharp laugh that had no humour in it.
“You must have heard of Mr. Theodore Garson?”
“Is he your employer?” Roberta enquired. “I am afraid the name means nothing to me.”
The young man stared at her in astonishment.
“Nothing to you?” he repeated. “But everybody knows Mr. Theodore Garson!”
“Why?” Roberta asked. “Is he the Governor of California or the Mayor of San Francisco?”
The young man laughed again.
“No, indeed much more important than that! Mr. Theodore Garson owns this railroad and he is the biggest railroad owner in the whole State!”
“Oh, now I understand!” Roberta exclaimed.
She had learnt from the books she had read that those who ran the railways thought of themselves as Gods and behaved as such.
“So it is Mr. Garson who is selling a railway train to an Arab!” she said.
As she spoke, she thought it was typical that one of the rich and important Sheiks should want to buy a railway train.
He had doubtless heard a great deal about them and she was sure that, if he did acquire a train, it would be a long time before he had the rails to run it on or the facilities of a station.
Nevertheless it would be a prize possession and one that would bring him much prestige and admiration amongst his followers.
Because she was curious, she could not help asking,
“Why did Mr. Garson not find an Arab to translate the Sheik’s letter for him?”
“He expected it to be done in his own office,” the young man replied, “and he wanted it translated within twenty-four hours!”
“Without you knowing Arabic?” Roberta exclaimed. “It was an impossible task!”
“That’s what we thought, but when Mr. Garson says something has to be done, it’s done.”
Roberta looked at the book he had handed her and saw that it was a very old, rather out of date Arab dictionary.
“This was the only book I could find in Arabic,” the young man said apologetically.
“I am not surprised that you found the translation difficult,” she said. “So many Arabic words look alike and sometimes have two or three different meanings according to the
context in which they are spoken.”
The young man gave a sigh.
Then he said,
“Perhaps, ma’am, if it’s not too much to ask, if there’s another letter waiting for me in the office when I get there, I could give it to you.”
“Of course, I should be very pleased to help you,” Roberta replied, “but as yet I don’t know where I shall be staying in San Francisco.”
“You’re new to the City?”
“I have never been there before. In fact, I am English.”
“English!” the young man exclaimed. “I thought you had a funny accent, but I couldn’t place it.”
Roberta was tempted to retort that it was he who had the funny accent, but then she thought it might seem rude.
As if he must make certain of her help, he told her how frightening it was to work in an office that belonged to the great Theodore Garson.
The young man’s name was Bert Weingart and he had only been employed for the last three months by Mr. Garson and was terrified of being sacked for incompetence.
“I know very little about railroads,” he said, “but I’m proficient in French, which is important in our dealings with New Orleans and I can also speak Italian and Mexican and am contriving to learn Chinese.”
Roberta laughed.
“Now I can understand why Mr. Garson would expect you to find no difficulty in reading Arabic and I am sure that Chinese is much more difficult.”
“I’m really only a beginner,” Bert said modestly.
“I think it is very enterprising of you to study it at all,” Roberta replied, “and while I can speak Arabic, I have no wish to learn Chinese.”
At the same time she knew that there were a great number of Chinese living in San Francisco. Her books had told her they kept very much to themselves and she did not expect to come in contact with them.
When she talked to Bert Weingart, he told her how many different nationalities were represented among the inhabitants.
“Most of them came with the Gold Rush,” he explained, “people from every country all over the world, and they are now assimilated into local life.”
71 Love Comes West Page 12