“Why on earth shouldn’t I?” she demanded, but she was pleased.
“Then we’ll go,” he said, “You’d better change into something warm. It’s usually pretty nippy down there. But then you’d know more about that than I would.”
They left the valley in silence. They went out by the north end, by Grant Lake, which was not frozen over, but very cold. They passed the shed which contained his plane, and came out into the white and granite countryside. Even the far desert was flecked with patches of late snow. Mono Lake lay to their right, a great, flat, lifeless pewter disk, reflecting only the blurred shadows of an occasional cloud. The shore was a tangle of dead branches rimed with heavy white salt. On one side was a cliff of black lava, in the centre, two islands, one like a cardinal’s hat of diseased black stone, the other barren and bleak. The lake was capable of ferocious and unexpected storms, no matter how quiet it might seem from the beach. Near the shore floated a motor launch, with a dinghy riding uneasily at its stern. She had not seen it before and she did not trust Christopher.
“I had it sent down from Reno,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to take a trip on this lake.”
“It’s dangerous. Nobody goes on it but the shrimp boat.”
“We’ll be safe enough,” he said. He clambered aboard the launch and beckoned to her to follow him. She did so, with a feeling that it was the wrong thing to do.
He got the engine to kick over and they began to move, the dinghy streaming out behind them at the end of its rope. She had never been in a large motor-boat before. The water was choppier than it had looked from the shore.
“Are we going to one of the islands?” she asked.
“Perhaps.”
He went far out. Even from the shore the lake was immense, but from the launch it seemed endless. On every side of them stretched the purplish grey and slimy water. The launch had no awning and the hard March sun beat down on them. There was no wind.
The launch moved more cautiously. They were several miles out, and she wondered what would happen to them if anything went wrong with the engine. She leaned back against the cushions of the bench and tried to tell herself that nothing was wrong, but the hostile place that was Mono scared her. The motion of the boat made her feel slightly ill. She shut her eyes and told herself that there was nothing to be afraid of. Then, abruptly, the engine stopped and they were becalmed.
“What’s wrong?” she asked suddenly.
“Nothing. I cut the engine. I thought we’d drift for a while and take in the view.”
She looked around her. From the launch, and the rail was not far above the water, the lake was terrifying. They were, she noticed, about half a mile from one of the islands. Christopher leaned against the dashboard, his hands folded in front of him, staring at her and smiling to himself. But his eyes were hard.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing. I think we should have a talk, that’s all. I think you’re afraid of me.”
“You know why you married me, I know why I married you,” she said, but even to herself her voice was shrill. “No woman would love you.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“You hate me the way you hated Curt,” she said. “Well, you’re not going to do to me what you did to Curt.”
“I did nothing to Curt. Curt is a weak fool.”
“That doesn’t make you any stronger.”
“It isn’t a good idea to turn on me,” he said. “Not in your position. And I don’t care about your pride: pride isn’t something you can afford. I didn’t come to talk to you about that.”
“And what did you want to talk about?”
He was silent for a minute. “You’re cheating me,” he said at last. “I want a child.”
“I’m not a brood sow for any man. You won’t have a child by me, or anybody else. And if it’s a legitimate child you want I won’t divorce you.”
“I don’t want to divorce you,” he said, staring at her open-mouthed. “You hate me, don’t you,” he went on slowly. “I didn’t realize that. Why on earth should you?’
“Because you’re too weak to stand anybody strong around you.”
That made him angry. “How dare you speak to me like that.”
“Do you know what I did?” she asked. “I went to a doctor in Reno, and of course I’m not pregnant. Why should I be? Do you think I want your child?”
He began to laugh at her. “You will have, though,” he said.
She felt cold, for a storm-cloud had moved over the lake from the mountains. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that unless you do as I say, I’ll dump you into the dinghy and leave you.”
She did not answer, and he stood up in the boat waving what she recognized as a yellow plastic diaphragm inserter. “You’re careless,” he said. “You left it in the bathroom this morning. So I thought we’d have a little trip.” He bit his lip, coming towards her, and she backed away, until she was up against the cushioned seat. He made a grab for her. She tried to get away, but he was stronger than she had thought. She could not stand him to touch her. She kicked him in the stomach. He let go of her, doubling over with a yell. She lost her footing and fell into the lake.
When she came to the surface she was south of the launch. She swam back to it, but he pried her hand loose from the rail and started the engine. “Spend some time in this sun and perhaps you’ll change your mind,” he shouted, and cast off the dinghy.
The launch drew away.
The water buoyed her up. She got to the dinghy and after three or four attempts scrambled into it. It was half-filled with the same slimy water. She tried to bail it out with her hands.
The water shrivelled her fingers at the tips making them seem bloodless. Whatever salt was in the water had coated her body with a stifling white rime. She had cut her fingers falling out of the launch, and the salt bit into the wounds fiercely. Looking up, she saw that the motor launch had been circling around her. She stood up and screamed for help, but the launch turned sharply and made for shore. It was soon an indistinct speck, but the wake of its passage badly rocked the dinghy.
Looking the other way, drawn by a change in the atmosphere, she saw the thunder head moving swiftly over the lake. It was almost above her now, and she could see the heavy rain streaking down out of it. She had heard about the dangers of that rain.
The surface of the lake began to heave, and before she could move, the storm was upon her in great driving gusts of ice and hail. The water was peppered with it, as though machine-gunned. She could scarcely keep her eyes open and her hands turned to ice.
More terrifying still was the shriek and roar of the wind. The boat dipped and plunged. If she was to live, something must be done and done quickly.
The launch had stopped close to one of the islands. Before the storm closed in she had caught a glimpse of it through the curtains of hail. It was invisible now, but she thought that she might be able to make it.
There were oars in the boat. She undid them, the soaked rope lashing her hands, and managed to get them in the locks. She knew she must bear to the right and she tried to do so. She could see nothing. Once she thought she heard the drone of an engine, but it was only a trick of the storm. What she could see of the water made her cower in the boat, for it was rising faster, in unpredictable waves. But she had no time to think of anything. She could only row. Her arms ached and the skin of her hands was scraped raw. A great welt rose between her palms, and she could feel the lymph run over her fingers. The hail hit the raw flesh and made her scream with pain. She knew that if she stopped she was lost.
The water tugged at the boat. She could not forget stories she had heard about that water: how, in winter, waves rose in its centre, invisible from shore, and how once a dead body had been found there, not bloated, but shrivelled up by the action of the salts.
She could feel her body slackening, but drove herself on. She did not know how long she had been rowing. Perhaps for an hour. Perhaps f
or longer. There was no let up in the storm. She could feel the wind tugging at the boat, and a pull sideways that made her realize that she had got into one of the circular currents round the island. Sobbing, she tried to pull harder at the oars.” She closed her eyes, but did not dare to become unconscious. She bit her arms to keep herself awake, and could taste her own blood. A wave splashed into the boat and ran eagerly over her feet. She shrank from it, tugging at the oars.
At last she heard something scrape against the bottom of the boat, and knew that she was almost safe, unless it was a submerged rock. She exerted her last strength, and felt the dinghy wedge between two rocks and jam firm. Then she lost consciousness, despite herself.
She came to in darkness. The hail was still falling, but less savagely, and she was chattering with cold. She could not move her arms and legs. The storm had diminished and a little behind her she could see the shadowy outline of land. She had reached the island, but was too exhausted to care. Yet she had to move or else freeze to death, so she managed to pull herself to the edge of the boat and let herself down into the water. The salt rasped her torn body. She struggled and fell all the way in. The water came to her armpits, and she threw herself forward, the volcanic rock bottom cutting her feet. She somehow made the ten feet to shore and flung herself up against the edge of rock, painfully crawling to safety and to land.
There she lost consciousness again. When she came to for the second time she realized that the storm had lifted. She turned over, lying on her back, trying to stop the awful chattering of her teeth. The night sky was dark blue, with every star clear and distinct above the storm.
She knew that she must try to move, but she could not, and as she tried, fell faint. Then she was roused. She heard voices, or thought she heard them, and struggled up from pain. It was still night, but now the stars were paler in the sky. She could not rise to help herself. A voice told her to lie still.
She felt herself lifted up. They were carrying her down towards the water. Her body was burning up and she could not think. She was lowered into a boat, and then, what seemed ages later, was lifted out of it again. She was wrapped in a blanket and something held her down. Much later, Christopher was beside her. He was saying something she could not hear and his face was pale. She did not understand. It could not be Christopher. Much later still, she tried to open her eyes, and realized that they were open, and that she could not see. She heard the engine of a car starting, and then she gave up trying to fight off darkness and knew nothing more.
XIII
She was in the hospital for three weeks. When her fever had gone down they told her that she was not to be alarmed, that she was blind, but that she would see again. And it was true. In a few days she could see, dimly at first, but then more clearly. They told her that her recovery was only a matter of time, but the time went slowly. Her doctor had a narrow beard and one of her nurses a wart on one cheek, but that was all she knew about them. She did not even know where the hospital was, or how she had got there. One morning she saw the old-fashioned bureau with a vase of roses on it, and the exact size of the window, and outside she heard the sudden alarmed chirrup of a robin and the sound of a heavy truck going by. And once more life came into focus.
It was her day nurse who told her that she was in Reno. The nurse was a nun, and in her headdress her face looked pale, unreal, like a winter rose. But she had firm, muscular arms and a reassuring professional bustle about her.
Her biggest surprise was when they brought her a mirror. She was startled to see herself so clearly. She looked as she had always looked. It was like looking out at the face of a girl. Her face was more innocent than she was, for inside she had somehow grown older. It was a strange sensation. She felt bigger and more competent than her own body.
She tried not to think of Christopher, and she did not know what she would do now. Each day the flowers in her room were renewed, and she knew that they came from him, but he sent no message. She disciplined herself to remember every moment of her life with him, from the first meeting to that awful scene in the boat. She could remember what had happened, but she could not remember how she had felt about any of it. She had passed over a bridge, from one self to another. The difference made her sad, though she did not know quite why.
She saw her doctor every day. His name was Hanley, and he was young and she had confidence in him. He was the only outsider she saw, and that made his visits the more important to her. Thinking about the doctor, she realized the truth about Christopher, or so she thought. He was mad; not insane, but mad. What had driven him so she did not know. And he was not mad all the time. That horrible old woman in the portrait had been mad as well. Once she realized that, she began to look forward to seeing him again. For she had married him and she could not turn back. She did not even want to any more. She did not, she thought, love him, but she did want to see what would happen next. She was ready for life again.
It was Dr. Hanley who brought the subject up.
“Oh,” she said. “Is he in Reno?”
“Yes. He told me to notify him when I thought you would be well enough to see him, so I wired.” Dr. Hanley seemed ill at ease. He wandered about the room and stopped at the roses.
“What did he tell you about all this?” she asked.
“That you fell overboard,” said Hanley. Looking at him, she saw that it was what he preferred to believe. “And will you see him?” he asked.
“Yes, I’ll see him.” A calm had settled over her that made it difficult to think. She did not greatly care. She did wonder why she had been allowed to remain alone for so long, for if she was right, Christopher did not dare to leave her alone. She did not even feel angry with him. He had almost killed her, yet it did not seem to matter.
When he did come, the nurse announced him. When he came in he seemed altered. Somehow he had shrunk. He had lost weight, and his gestures were nervous. She was shocked. There was something pleading in his eyes, and she looked away. He waited for the nurse to leave. The change in him was alarming. She wondered what had happened.
“How are you?” he asked awkwardly.
“Much better. And you?”
“Well enough,” he said shortly. “I’ve been busy.”
“The doctor said you were in San Francisco.”
“I was.” He moved idly round the room, not wanting to come too close to her. He fiddled with the roses. “Did you like the flowers?” he asked. “I should have sent a decent vase.”
“It’s quite pretty.”
There was little to say, and she sat watching him. His eyes were dead. Unexpectedly, with a touch of his old manner, he turned to her, as though searching for something.
“I think I’ve learned a lesson from this,” he said. He hesitated. “I want you to come back. Never mind why.”
“I think I know why.”
This seemed to upset him. “We won’t go back to the house,” he said. “We’ll go anywhere you please. Perhaps you’d like to go to San Francisco.”
She wondered why he wanted to go to San Francisco, but it did not seem important.
“I can’t stand it,” he said. “I’ve got to have help. And, well, I’ve left you everything. I’ve made my will.”
There was something wrong with his voice that she could not identify. Looking at him, she made up her mind, realizing at the same time that there was nothing else for her to do. She knew she must not ask him if he was ill.
“Very well,” she said. It was all she could say. Enthusiasm or kindness would not come.
“The doctor says you can leave to-morrow. You needn’t if you don’t want to. I’ve taken a suite at the Mapes. I won’t call for you. I’ll have a car sent out.” He stopped, crossed the room, and kissed her swiftly on the forehead. “Thanks,” he said, and left the room.
Long after he was gone, she tried to think it over. His promises meant nothing. He would break his promises. But that kiss had been different. It had been pathetic, and that was another and more puzzling Chri
stopher. But she could not puzzle it out. It was useless to try.
*
A week later they flew down to San Francisco.
She had wanted to go there all her life, yet she could not feel that thrill she had always imagined. It was spring, and yet she felt old. As she looked out the window of the plane, she saw spread below her all the world that she had never seen, from the higher mountains, still locked in winter, with here and there a frozen lake, to the foothills, already covered with the poignant flowered grass. At last she saw below her the sparkle of sluggish water that was San Francisco Bay. The hills were lushly green all around the water, and the sun caught the windows of tall buildings, so that the world looked as though it were sprinkled with diamonds. And there, across the Bay, rose San Francisco itself, fretted with wharves. She remembered pictures she had seen of the city at night, when the bay was an immense lagoon, fringed and dotted with white and yellow lights, and when the pink glare of neon lit up the heavens in a glowing cloud. It seemed that it was the most beautiful city in the world, and she wondered what would happen to her there.
Yet she was still trapped in a world of arrangements, of chartered automobiles, planes, and railroad compartments, a world in which Christopher felt he had to keep her locked in. For he had not changed. It was foolish of her to imagine that he could change. Looking at him, no matter what his mood was now, she felt that she was too weak either to stand up to him or to get away from him. She was a prisoner for life. He asked her if she felt all right, and she said yes, but she felt like crying. Even more than in the mountains, she knew she would have to stay with Christopher. She could not face all these strangers alone.
Their hotel, which was on Nob Hill, was the biggest building she had ever seen in her life, all plush and gold. In the elevator she felt herself rising upward through a world in which she could never have a part.
They had a suite on the fifth floor at the front. She could see over the square, and sometimes she watched the people pass by. She would wake up in the middle of the night with the feeling that she was slipping down through infinite space. Her body ached for someone to comfort her. She was miserably lonely, for Christopher seemed eager to keep her at a distance. She did not dare to ask him anything.
The Self-Enchanted Page 12