The Hesitant Hero

by Gilbert, Morris

  “I don’t think I could have done that.”

  Jolie did not answer, and her silence seemed like a rebuke to Tyler. He thought, That’s exactly what she meant when she said I didn’t have any strength. He picked up his fork and cut at a corner of his steak, but he had lost his appetite. Putting the fork down, he said, “I’ve been thinking about what you said after we ate at Gregorio’s—that I’m not strong.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve always been too blunt.” Jolie laughed, and the dimple appeared in her cheek. “I like to think I’m just straightforward, but Maman always says I have no tact. It’s none of my business what you are, Tyler.”

  “Well, it made me angry when you said it, but the more I’ve thought about it, the more I think you’re right. Things have been pretty easy for me compared to the problems you’ve had.”

  “Oh, I’ve had a good life. It was hard coming here, of course. It’s hard to see my father so sick, even though I never knew him before.”

  She put her fork down and leaned forward. “I’ve been thinking about your passion for art since the last time I saw you. You’re the first artist I’ve ever met. It seems that artists who are most successful have an unusual drive.” She leaned back in her chair. “I remember reading about Paul Gauguin, the artist who was a friend of Van Gogh. He was so driven he forsook his family and went to the islands of the South Seas and painted constantly. And Van Gogh himself, if I remember correctly, only sold one or two of his paintings. Now each one is worth millions.”

  “Yes, he was a miserable, unhappy man—Van Gogh, I mean. But look what he left the world. What a legacy.”

  “Is that what you want to do?”

  The simple question stopped Tyler almost as if he had run into a wall. “I guess I haven’t thought that far ahead. I just like to paint.”

  “That’s not enough, though, is it? Most of the great artists had to work hard and overcome all sorts of obstacles.”

  The question was like a sharp knife being driven into Tyler. He knew that he was lazy and that he didn’t have the kind of energy that drives a man to such an extent that it consumes his life. “I guess so,” he finally said, knowing she had touched on a raw spot.

  “Tyler, let me tell you something that you might not want to hear. You seem to have forgotten that God gives people talents, and anyone who wastes them is a fool.”

  He could not meet Jolie’s eyes. He dropped his focus to the tablecloth and was silent for so long that she finally said, “Well, I’ve hurt your feelings again. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be together. I’m too blunt and at times I get self-righteous.” She started to get up.

  “Don’t go,” he said. “It’s early yet.”

  “Tyler, don’t you see that we’re not alike?”

  He did see that, and somehow their differences were what made him interested in her. He saw in her a strength and an intensity that he admired but knew he did not possess—or if he possessed it, it was dormant. After he paid for their meals, they went outside. “Let me see you again,” he said. “We’ll talk about something else.”

  “About the weather? About the war in Europe? The world’s going to pieces, Tyler. The Germans could attack my country any day and kill half the population. They almost killed off half the men in the last war. This man Hitler is a maniac, and he’s not going to stop until the world’s on fire.”

  Tyler was astonished at her intensity. “Hitler’s pretty bad all right, but he’s promised that he won’t do anything else toward expanding German territory.”

  Jolie’s eyes flashed. “He’s a liar and a maniac, and he will not stop until the whole world is destroyed!” She pulled her collar tight around her neck. “Good-bye, Tyler. It would be best if you didn’t come to see me anymore.”

  Tyler watched her leave and felt tremendously deflated. He wasn’t angry, for he recognized the truth in what she had said. Slowly he turned and made his way back toward his apartment. When he arrived home, he tried to work for a while but found he could not, for the things she had said kept running through his mind.

  ****

  Looking back afterward, Tyler realized that the supper he’d had with Jolie Vernay had acted as a catalyst. For two or three days, he took her words to heart and threw himself into his art and his schoolwork with a vigor he had never shown before. But then Caroline appeared on the scene again, demanding that they go out, and he gave in with little protest.

  That night they went to a nightclub, and Caroline shoved a bunch of bills into his hands, saying, “Spend it all. Let’s just have a good time.”

  They enjoyed their evening together, drinking too much, and the next night they repeated the pattern.

  The cycle then began, and through most of November Tyler slipped back into the same bad habits that had marked his career. Caroline was now, she declared, completely in love with him, and more than once she had suggested that they get married. “We’ll have a place together,” she continued the last time they had talked about it, “and you can study art and we won’t have to be separated.”

  “What will you do while I’m studying art?”

  She had thrown her arms around him and pulled his head down to kiss him thoroughly. Her eyes were gleaming, and she had laughed. “You be the artist, and I’ll see that we both have a good time.”

  The temptation was real enough, for Tyler’s finances were in shambles. He had to take a job as a grocery cashier just to make his way without asking for more money from his parents. The time spent on the job was time spent away from his studies, and he gave up on art almost altogether except for the projects that he had to do in order to pass his art classes.

  November passed quickly, and each time he thought of Jolie Vernay he quickly pushed her out of his mind. Her words still burned in him when he allowed himself to dwell on them, so he solved that problem by drinking enough that he was able to put her out of his mind.

  ****

  It was on the first day of December that Tyler encountered Jolie again. He had just come out of his last class for the day and had started walking home. He sometimes took another route so that he would not have to pass by the hospital where Jolie worked, but he was tired this evening and took the quickest route. As he approached the hospital, he was startled to see Jolie coming out of the front doors. She was wearing a black cloth coat and a hat that covered most of her hair. She was moving rather slowly, he saw, as if she were weary, and an impulse took him. He hastened his pace.

  “Hello, Jolie.” She turned, looking startled, but she didn’t acknowledge him.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

  She stood looking down at the ground and finally said, “Hello, Tyler. No, I’m all right.”

  “You don’t look well.” He thought she looked like she had lost weight, and he stepped closer, studying her face. “Is your father worse?”

  “He died two weeks ago.”

  Tyler knew she was alone in a foreign country and wished he could have been there for her. “I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly. “If I had known, maybe I could have—”

  “No. There was nothing you could do.”

  Tyler tried to think of something to say. “I really am sorry,” he murmured. “It must be hard for you.”

  “I’ll be going home soon,” she said, “so this is good-bye.”

  Although he knew the thought was ridiculous, Tyler suddenly felt that he was losing an important part of his life. “Let me have your address in France.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  The abrupt refusal surprised Tyler. “It wouldn’t hurt you to let me write.”

  “Tyler, I’ve told you in every way I know how. We have nothing in common. What would we write about?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t have so many friends that I couldn’t use another one. I think you could too.”

  She shrugged, looking fatigued, but she took a piece of paper and a pencil out of her purse. Using the purse as a brace, she wrote her addre
ss down and handed the paper to him. “Please don’t get your hopes up,” she said. “This won’t come to anything.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Very soon. Good-bye, Tyler. I wish you well.”

  He stood there watching until Jolie was completely out of sight, unable to take his eyes from her. He wanted to run after her to argue, but he knew it would be futile. When she had disappeared from his sight, he remained standing where he was. I should have helped her, he thought. If I had had any sense at all, I would have realized that she needed a friend. She told me her father wouldn’t live long, and I did what I always do—just ignored it.

  He turned away, his head down, walking aimlessly. He did not want to go to his apartment, and for a long time that afternoon he walked the streets. His feet grew numb with the cold, and he kept his hands shoved in the pockets of his overcoat, but his face quickly became immobile. Finally in disgust he made himself go home. Somehow he did not want to be alone, and he called Caroline. As usual, she was ready for a night out. As he hung up the phone, he felt the emptiness grow inside him. He had come to America with high hopes and expecting success, and instead of that it seemed that everything he had touched was turning sour.

  That night he and Caroline outdid themselves, throwing themselves into the night life with wild exuberance. At one point, Caroline gasped, “Well, you’ve come alive at last. It’s about time!”

  But later, when Tyler staggered home and threw himself on his bed fully clothed, so drunk he could not undress, he thought about her words. “No,” he muttered, “I’m not alive. Just the opposite.”

  ****

  Tyler went through the next two weeks almost in a daze. He had failed three of the courses he was taking, including the art course in which he had the most interest. He opened his mailbox and stared at the notice that had come from the dean’s office instructing him to see the dean immediately. He made his way to the campus, his heart heavy.

  The dean wasted no time. “Your grade point average will not permit you to continue your studies here. I’m sorry, Mr. Winslow. You are dismissed from this college.”

  Tyler left the man’s office and for four days he tried to come up with a plan for his future. He drank too much but found it offered no comfort.

  On Saturday night, he went out with Caroline as usual, but he was unable to forget his troubles. By nine o’clock, he was ready to go home.

  “What’s wrong with you, Tyler?” she asked as they sat in her car outside of his apartment. “You act like you’re sick.”

  “I’ve got something to tell you,” he said. “I’ve made a mess out of school, Caroline.”

  “So did I. So do a lot of people. It’s no disgrace. Are your grades bad?”

  “They’re terrible. I’ve got to go back to Africa.”

  “Africa! Why, you can’t go back there. There’s nothing there for you.”

  “I know it, but I don’t have any choice.” A bitterness twisted his mouth, and he shook his head. “I guess I could get a job driving a bus or something like that.”

  “I don’t know anything about art,” Caroline said, “but you must have thought you could be successful.”

  “I thought so once. I’m not so sure anymore.”

  Caroline took his hand and held it against her cheek. “I’ll help you,” she said softly.

  Her words took Tyler by surprise. He often thought of her as being an empty-headed pleasure seeker, but now he saw that there was more to her than that. “I don’t think you can.”

  “I can if you’ll let me,” Caroline said eagerly. She took his hand in both of hers. “What you need is to forget about all those other classes and do nothing but paint. You need to throw yourself into it. You don’t need to be worried about money all the time.”

  Tyler suddenly grinned. “By George, why didn’t I think of that! That’s what I need to do—get rich and do nothing but paint. That’s a great idea!”

  “Don’t make fun of me, Tyler,” Caroline said. “Listen, you’ve always talked about going to Europe to look at the great paintings there and maybe find a good teacher. If you’d do that, I think you could make it, and I’ve got the money.”

  Tyler stared at Caroline. “Why, I couldn’t do that.”

  “Why not? Don’t you care for me at all, Tyler?” She put her hand on his cheek. “I care for you, and I thought you loved me, a little bit at least.”

  Caroline was showing a vulnerable side of herself that Tyler had never seen, although at times he had sensed that she was covering up a sensitive heart with the wild, extravagant life she led. But he was not in love with her, much as he sometimes enjoyed being with her.

  “Oh, we have a good time together, Caroline, but that’s different.”

  “I know I’m silly and foolish and I drink too much, but I do care for you. I want to help you. Listen,” she said. “I’ve got some money put aside that my parents don’t even know about. It’s enough to buy you passage on a ship to Spain or France or somewhere. You could study hard and become a great painter, and then you could come back here and my parents would be proud to have you as a son-in-law. We could be happy together, Tyler. I know we could! I know your pride’s hurt because my family has money, but if you could do this and become successful, why, there’d be nothing to keep us apart.”

  Tyler was stunned. He could not even speak for a moment, and finally he said, “That’s sweet of you to offer, but—”

  “But what? What’s wrong with it? You know I’ll just throw the money away on partying or something stupid. This way I’d be investing in you. I’d be part of you. I’m not smart like you are, but I could help in this way. Please don’t go back to Africa. Go to Europe for six months until you find yourself, and I know you will.”

  ****

  Tyler, of course, refused Caroline’s offer, but the idea seemed to have taken hold in her, and from that day forward it was all she talked about. As the new year approached and Tyler didn’t come up with any better plan, he began to think seriously about what she had said. Actually he had no choice at all. It was either go back to Africa, keep his job at the grocery store, or do as Caroline wished. Of the three choices, the longer he thought about it, the more Caroline’s idea seemed to make sense.

  Finally, in the last week of December, he was alone with Caroline. They had gone out for a brisk walk in the park, and she had, as usual, begged him to take her offer. Finally the decision that had been coming more and more into focus in his mind solidified. “Caroline, do you really think I should go to Europe?”

  “Yes, I do. It’s the only thing to do, Tyler.”

  “I believe you’re right. It galls me to have to take your money, but I will under one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That you let me pay you back when I begin to sell my work.”

  “You won’t need to pay me back, because when you come back we’ll get married. You’ll be successful. I’ll be the wife of a famous painter. Then it won’t be my money or your money, it’ll be our money. Oh, Tyler, I’m so excited!” She put her arms around him and kissed him. “I’ll miss you so much, but we’ll write all the time, won’t we? And when you come back, we’ll get married. I’ll be so proud to have a famous husband.”

  Tyler held her tightly and at that moment all of his doubts fled away. Why, of course I can do it. It’s what I’ve been needing all the time, and Caroline’s right. She would have thrown the money away on booze or a fur coat or jewelry. And I’ll pay her back.

  ****

  On the night of January the third, Tyler stood at the dock saying good-bye to Caroline. The two clung together, and as the whistle blasted in the morning air, she held to him tightly. “I’ll miss you so much! You write me as soon as you get to France.”

  “I will, and if I ever amount to anything, Caroline, it’ll be your doing.”

  “No it won’t,” she whispered. “I don’t have the talent for much of anything, but you do. This way I’ll be a part of your life.
I want it this way so much!”

  The two hugged again, and then the last call sounded. Tyler kissed her once more, made his way up the gangplank, and stood at the rail. She was waiting, a small figure in the crowd, her eyes fixed on him. When the ship began to move out, Tyler waved at her, smiling.

  Before long, he could see her no more. The passengers began to disperse, but he went to the stern of the ship and watched America recede. Suddenly it all seemed wrong, but it was too late now. He had a crazy impulse to jump off the ship and swim to shore, to tell her that it wasn’t going to work—but he pushed that idea away with some effort.

  “I’ll make it up to her,” he murmured. “I’ll work hard and be a success, and she’ll be proud of me. And so will my folks.” With that thought in mind, he left America and headed for the Old World.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  More Disappointment

  Although the ship that carried Tyler Winslow from America to France bore the rather magnificent name The Flying Eagle, in reality, it had none of the speed of an eagle. It seemed to crawl over the gray surface of the Atlantic so slowly that if it weren’t for the vibrations of the engines, Tyler oftentimes would have felt that the ship was standing absolutely still. For the first day or two he prowled the ship out of curiosity, but after he had thoroughly explored the vessel, he spent as much time as possible on deck. He had not always been a deep thinker, but he had a lot on his mind these days.

  While the meals were adequate, each day they became less satisfying. The cook had apparently never heard of seasoning, and Tyler had to add salt and pepper to whatever was set before him for it to have any flavor at all. There were activities of various kinds at night, with the passengers gathering to play games or dance. One woman in her late thirties apparently took a fancy to Tyler and flirted with him, but there was something predatory about her. Tyler found himself remaining in his cabin or walking around the deck rather than be thrown into her company.