by Gwen Bristow
“I don’t know how to make beautiful speeches, Garnet. But as I told you yesterday, you are the only woman I ever gave a damn about. I should like very much to be married to you. Do you like me well enough for that?”
A flash of sun struck the buckle of his belt. The mist was lifting. The sun was sending long bright shafts between the mountains, and the dew was all a-glitter on the leaves. Garnet went to him, and stood looking up at his lean dark face and the astonishingly light eyes under the black lashes; and though he was smiling as his eyes met hers, she saw the bitter lines about his eyes and mouth, the same lines she had seen the first time she had met him. She thought that now at last she would find out what had put them there, and she would spend the rest of her life loving him and making him understand that the world did not have to be as hard as he had found it. She said, “John, I love you. You are the only man I have ever loved, and I will love you as long as I live.”
John did not answer at once. She had thought that now he would put his arms around her again and give her a kiss that would not have to be interrupted by Doña Manuela’s shouting. But he did not. He looked down at her, with a smile that was half surprised and half indulgent. Then after a moment he said, “I don’t demand that either, Garnet. We’re both grown up. So let’s be honest. You know as well as I do that ‘love’ is a lot of moonshine.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
AS LONG AS SHE LIVED Garnet was going to remember the background of that morning in the olive grove. Years later something would happen to remind her, and all sorts of trifles would come back to her: the glitter of the dew, the lavender lights on the hills, the fresh odor of the grass her feet had crushed. She would see again John’s sunburnt face, with his hair growing to a point on his forehead, his light green eyes under the black lashes, his faint smile and the bitter lines about his mouth. When she remembered that morning she would flinch, feeling again the shock she had felt when she found out that John too thought love was a lot of moonshine.
At first she did not believe him. She was sure he had not understood what she was saying. With an amazement that twisted her spirit like hot irons twisting her flesh, she found that John had understood her quite well. But he thought she had said it because she thought he wanted to hear it; and he was telling her that he did not expect any such sentimental promises. Lovers’ vows, no matter how hot and sweet, would cool quickly in the fresh air of facts, so why make them at all? People with grown-up minds talked sense instead.
John was surprised that anybody as clear-headed as she was should have thought he wanted to hear such romantic words as “I will love you as long as I live.” When she exclaimed that she meant it, he was still more surprised, because he had no notion of saying it back to her. John liked her immensely, he thought she was the most desirable woman he had ever known, but he was not going to promise her any deathless passion. He did not believe he was capable of such a thing, and he did not believe anybody else was capable of it either. “For God’s sake, Garnet,” he urged, “nobody can make promises like that! It will be so much simpler for both of us if we don’t pretend we can.”
Her astounded pain must have shown in her eyes, for he led her back to the bench and took her hands in his. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Garnet,” he said.
He spoke sincerely, with a tenderness that surprised her. But it was not the tenderness of a man toward a beloved woman; it was more the gentleness of a man who had the hard task of telling a child that the world was not always gay and bright. He went on,
“Garnet, I’m very fond of you. But all that talk about eternal adoration—it’s nonsense, and you know it is.”
“I don’t know anything of the sort,” she retorted. “When I said I loved you, I know I was not talking nonsense.” She had tried to speak tersely. But she could not keep it up. She loved him and wanted him so much. “John,” she pled, “don’t you love me?”
John stood up. “Oh Garnet,” he exclaimed, “what does that word mean?”
“You don’t know?” she asked in a hurt wonder.
“No, Garnet, I don’t. And I don’t believe anybody else knows either. It hasn’t got any meaning. Men ‘love’ their dogs and women ‘love’ pretty clothes and captains ‘love’ their ships and little girls ‘love’ their dolls and various other people ‘love’ music or hunting or the Swiss mountains. Then people say they ‘love’ each other.”
“And you don’t believe they mean it?”
“I don’t believe they mean anything,” John said.
“Oh John,” she urged, “haven’t you seen people who loved each other?”
He shrugged. “I’ve seen people who said they did. I’ve heard them talk about love. They call it a high and holy emotion. Then they use it to excuse every stupid revolting crime they want to commit. ‘Because I love you, you must do everything I want you to do.’ ‘Because I love you, you belong to me like a lapdog.’ ‘Because I love you, I will bind you to me and possess you and make you wait on every whim of mine, and it’s all for your own good, my dear boy, I know what you want better than you do, because I love you.’” John shook his head in disgust. “No, Garnet. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve seen how it works. I don’t want any.”
He stood in a beam of sunlight. The sun struck him from the side, brightening that side of his face and body and leaving the other side in shadow. It seemed to her that John had always been like that, half of him clear and half in the dark. “I don’t understand you,” she said. “If you don’t love me, what is all this? Are you still asking me to marry you?”
“Why of course,” said John. He sat down by her again. “And God knows that’s more than I ever said to any woman before.”
Garnet felt as if she were groping her way through a fog. She said nothing, because she did not know what to say. John linked his hands between his knees, and looking down at them he added gravely,
“I’m sorry I shocked you so. I never had any tact in my life, but I never minded until now.” He turned his head, smiling at her in a way that was penitent and somehow touching, and it almost made her shed tears. “Garnet,” he said, “tell me what you want of me.”
Garnet lowered her head, resting her chin on her clasped hands. It was so hard to put this into words. Love was something people ought to know by instinct, and not want to have explained to them bit by bit as though it were a recipe for making a pie. But she tried to tell him.
“I want you to love me,” she said. “That means, I don’t want to be just the only woman you ever gave a damn about! I want to be the heart, the center, the roots of you. I want to be more important to you than everything else on earth together because that’s how important you are to me. And I want to know we’ll always be that important to each other, no matter what we do or what happens to us.” She gazed at him, pleading so hard that it seemed her heart was hurting in her chest. “Now, do you understand?”
John did not answer immediately. He looked down at the wild oats, and bent a cluster of green young spikes with his boot. Watching the bent grass spring up again, he spoke slowly.
“Garnet, I wish I could say yes.”
“You still don’t know what I mean?” she cried.
John went on as though she had not spoken. “I almost did say yes. But I didn’t say it, because no matter how much you wanted to believe me, you couldn’t have believed me very long. I simply haven’t got any talent for pretending.” He turned so as to face her squarely. “Garnet, I don’t trust the future. I know the here and now, but I don’t know anything else. That’s why I can’t understand all those easy promises. A man can promise that he will never beat this woman, or that he will do his best to give her food and shelter. Those things are possible. But I don’t understand how he can swear that he’ll feel certain emotions for the rest of his life. How can he know?”
The corner of Garnet’s mouth gave a sardonic curl. She was remembering what Florinda had said to her about promises of love, and what she herself had thought that day: that John would
never make a promise unless he was ready to risk his life to keep it. At least, she thought now, she had been right about that. John was not going to make her any promises. She asked,
“Then why do you want to marry me, John?”
He did not hesitate about answering this. “Because I want you so. You’ve got the kind of proud independent strength I admire, and I think you and I could have a very good time together.”
“But if that’s all you feel—suppose it doesn’t last?”
“Suppose it doesn’t,” he said. “We’ll have a very good time while it does last.” He smiled at her. “Now do you understand that?”
All of a sudden she got mad. She had been shocked and hurt; at first the shock had been so great that it had dulled her feeling of how deep the hurt was. But now she felt it, and John’s thin-lipped smile seemed to her to be mocking, as though he were making fun of her. She said deliberately, “I understand it. I think it’s about as exciting as warm dishwater.” She stood up, and John stood up too. Taking her elbow in his hard grip, he said,
“Garnet, the world is full of men who can talk the kind of trumpery you want to hear. You’re too smart to want it. If you do insist on it, you’ll deserve just what you’ll get.”
“And I’ll get—what do you mean?”
“Disillusion,” said John. “You’ve had that. It’s no fun—remember?”
She winced, but he did not apologize. He continued,
“I lied to you once. That day in Santa Fe, when I told you I had no letter for Oliver. It was a sentimental effort to spare you. If I had been honest with you that day I would have spared you a good deal of worse suffering later on. Doesn’t that prove anything to you?”
Garnet caught her breath. “Florinda gave me this same advice long ago,” she retorted. “But I didn’t expect it from you. Are you completely heartless, John?”
“I don’t know whether I’m heartless or merely reasonable,” said John. “But at least I’m honest. If it hurts you, it’s probably because I’m the first honest man you’ve ever known.”
“Oh shut up,” said Garnet. She was blazing with anger. “I know what I want and I won’t take less. You say you’re honest! Fiddlesticks. You’re as hard as glass. You can’t feel anything deeply so you laugh at people who can. It’s so easy to say you despise something you can’t understand. Like tone-deaf people who brag that they can’t enjoy music and say that people who go to concerts are just putting on airs. I’m sorry I bothered you with my nonsense and I never will again.”
She was so angry that she could not see him clearly. She was aware that his dark face was close to hers, and his hand was still tight on her elbow, and he was beginning to say something. But she did not want to hear him say any more. With a quick effort she wrenched herself free, and gathering up her skirts she began to run. She had been so sure of what she wanted, and so sure John had come back to give it to her. Now she felt rejected and humiliated, as if she had asked for pearls and he had tossed her a handful of sea-shells. She was angry with him, and even more angry with herself for having asked so frankly. She felt that she had left herself not a shred of pride or dignity. If he was laughing at her it was no more than she should have expected after such outrageous candor as hers.
She ran through the high grass, scraping her shoulders against the low-hanging limbs of the trees and feeling the twigs slap her cheeks and catch in her hair. The ground was rough, and the wild oats was nearly knee-high and thick as fur. She was so eager to get away from John that she did not notice how rough it was until her foot caught in a clump of grass and pitched her forward.
She was not hurt, for she had instinctively put her hands under her as she fell, so that she caught most of the shock on her arms. But it was a shock nevertheless, and for a moment she could not move. How idiotic she must look, she thought as she struggled to breathe again, and how ridiculous. She hoped violently that John had not seen her fall. Half dazed, she pushed herself up with both hands.
It was hard to get her breath. No part of her body was actually painful, but she had a shaken-up feeling all over and her elbows and the palms of her hands were stinging. She blinked to clear her eyes, and as she did so she saw John. He had knelt down beside her and was about to help her up. Garnet jerked back from him. At least he might have had the tact to pretend he had not seen her tumble down in this graceless fashion. But of course, John had no tact and he never pretended anything. He had just finished telling her so. She was still dizzy, but she could see his face bent over hers.
“Please listen to me!” he was saying. “You just told me something I’d never thought of before. Maybe I am tone-deaf about love. That could be so, because I know what you mean about music.”
He was kneeling by her, supporting her with an arm under her shoulders. For the moment she still had no voice to answer. John went on.
“I am tone-deaf, Garnet. Almost, that is. I can usually recognize a tune I’ve heard ten times, but more than that I can’t do. You wouldn’t blame me for that, would you? So if I was born without any talent for love, do you have to punish me for it?”
Garnet was catching the air in painful gasps. The jolt of her fall, added to the thunder in her mind, was making her tremble all over. “John, let me alone!” she exclaimed. “Stop laughing at me. Let me go.”
“Oh you dear tormenting woman,” said John, “don’t you know if I had what you want I’d give it to you?”
Garnet barely heard him. Though it was still hard for her to move, she tried to scramble to her feet. Her movements were unsteady, and John took her elbows in his hands and raised her. Before she could pull away from him she heard him say, “Is this what you were running away from, Garnet?” and he put his arms around her and kissed her as she had never been kissed before.
At first she yielded in a breathless rapture. But then suddenly she realized that she was yielding. A wave of rage and shame swept down like a red curtain in front of her eyes. With all the strength she had she broke away from him, and she was so angry with herself that she slapped his face. It made her hand sting again. She rushed away from him as fast as she could, but by good luck or because she knew he was looking, this time she did not stumble. It was only a few seconds before she came out of the grove and heard her footsteps crunching on the flagstones of the court between the grove and the house.
She stopped abruptly, letting go her skirts, and glanced over her shoulder. John had not followed her. He was back there among the olive trees and she could not see him. She hoped she would never have to see him again.
She was glad to find that Florinda was not in their bedroom. Garnet dropped face down across the bed, feeling as limp as a boiled fish. A little while later she heard the gong sounding for the mid-morning breakfast, but she paid no attention. She felt as exhausted as if she had been riding a mountain trail all day.
Shortly before noon Florinda came in. She had been riding; her hair was windblown and her cheeks had a bright flush, and altogether she had such an air of well-being that Garnet would have liked to slap her too. Florinda took off her leather gloves, and dropping them on the wall-bench she came over to the bed and put her hand on Garnet’s shoulder.
“Dear,” she said gently, “I’m so sorry.”
Startled, Garnet looked up. “How do you know?”
“I don’t, not exactly. But he hurt you dreadfully, didn’t he?” Garnet’s throat puckered and she could not answer. Florinda said, “Don’t talk about it if you’d rather not. But it’s pretty clear. You were so happy. You were all ready to be hurt.”
Garnet gave her a crooked smile. Swallowing the pucker in her throat she said, “You tried to tell me, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know?”
“You’re so gay and shining, Garnet. And John, he’s like a house with the doors locked and the shades down.” She gave Garnet a critical survey. “You’ve got grass-stains on your dress.”
“I slipped and fell down.”
“Lucky I came in. I figured you’d want to be let alone, so I stayed out as long as I could. But you’ve got to come to dinner. Want me to get out a clean dress for you?”
Garnet did not want to come to dinner, but Florinda insisted.
“If you go on missing meals,” she warned darkly, “Doña Manuela will decide you’re sick. And if Doña Manuela decides you’re sick, heaven help you. Anyway, there’s no danger of running into John today. I just saw him riding on the hills like seven ghosts were after him.”
Garnet went to the dining-hall, and to her surprise she was able to eat when she got there. The food made her feel better, for she had had nothing all day but the cup of chocolate at dawn. After dinner she was sure she could not get a siesta, but to avoid being a nuisance she went to bed when Florinda did, and long habit made her fall asleep. When she woke up her mind was quieter. She was still hurt and bewildered, but at least she did not feel as if every nerve in her body was as tight as a violin-string.
During the siesta hour a hard rain had started, and the room was so cold that instead of getting dressed they curled up on the bed with blankets over their knees. As there was no glass in the window they had to keep the shutters closed, but they had plenty of candles. Florinda was stitching a fresh ruffle around the neck of a dress. She took exquisite care of her clothes, but she would not do her sewing anywhere but in the bedroom, for she could not sew with gloves on and the movements of needlework drew attention to her hands.
She had pried for no confidences. But by now Garnet felt like talking. While the rain fell outside, she told Florinda a good deal about what she and John had said to each other. Florinda listened with sympathy, but she was frankly baffled.
“But Garnet, he said he’d marry you! I was afraid he would want you just to be his lady-friend, and I knew that would shock you something awful. Are you sure he said he’d marry you?”