‘But what had you lost? Say whatever comes into your mind. Quickly now!’ His voice was all at once surprisingly sharp and peremptory.
And she responded. ‘Basil,’ she said, without thinking –just when she had promised herself to be most careful, to examine every word she was about to say, to weigh its consequences. ‘Basil,’ she repeated, dismayed at how easily her mind could become a traitor, how like an old circus dog it was, a shaggy old dog who jumped and did his trick whenever the ringmaster snapped his whip. How well you have me trained, Dr Danzer! she thought, scornfully.
‘You were afraid you had lost Basil? His love, you mean?’
‘Yes, I suppose.’ Unfortunately, he was right. He was always right. That was what her dream had been about.
She had been afraid that Basil no longer loved her, that two years had been too long…
‘Have you any reason to suspect that your husband doesn’t love you?’
The doctor spoke quietly now, as if he, too, were ashamed of the trick he had forced her to perform. Now, if I were an old dog, he’d give me a lump of sugar and scratch me behind the ears, she thought, smiling wryly to herself.
‘No,’ she said; ‘he has been very attentive, very loving. But—’ And she could not continue.
‘But there is something wrong, something has changed – is that it?’ Dr Danzer asked. ‘He is nice to you, he obviously loves you – or he says he does – but he isn’t the way you remember him. Am I right?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That is the way it has been.’
The doctor stood up, surveyed the room, moved his hand back and forth in the half-light. When he was sure her eyes were upon him, he strode to the window, tugged at the controlling cords, threw open the shutters. Bright, blinding, yellow-white, noonday sun scourged the darkness from the room. The doctor turned his eyes away from the dazzling window, blinked at her. ‘It is not the same, is it?’ he inquired.
‘No,’ she said, ‘it is not the same.’ And she stood up to go because when he opened the windows in his hospital office it had always been a sign that the interview was ended.
But he waved his hand at her, indicating that she should sit down again. ‘Isn’t it a beautiful day!’ he said.
She nodded her head. Actually, the sun was so bright it made her head ache. ‘I hadn’t realized how intense the sunlight was,’ she said. ‘I think it was a little cloudy when I came in. Or I was thinking about seeing you and I did not notice the weather.’
‘But now you notice it,’ he said. ‘First, you know it has changed. Then, you begin to wonder how it has changed. “Was it cloud before? It hasn’t been raining, I’m sure. Was the sun this bright or has it grown brighter? Perhaps, I didn’t notice how it was when I came – I was too preoccupied.” That’s the way you talk to yourself. And all the time it is a beautiful day, but you are too worried about how it has changed to enjoy it.’
Now she did stand up. Now she would go. ‘You mean that you think I worry too much about things – that I’m too introspective?’
He came forward and took her hand in his. It was the first time he had done this. He looked at her, hesitantly, as if he might look down at any moment. ‘I think you are a little anxious, wary – that you have stage-fright. Don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I suppose I am.’
He withdrew his hands, stuffed them into his pockets so that his jacket bulged comically. But the expression on his face was serious. ‘Ellen,’ he asked, ‘what if your husband had fallen in love with someone else? Would that be so terrible?’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I’ve given you the wrong impression. I don’t think he has. It was just a silly dream.’
‘There is no such thing as a silly dream, Ellen.’
‘I mean I was just being neurotic. It isn’t true. Basil loves me very much.’ What he had said had embarrassed her, and she had begun to back towards the door. If she could only think of something casual to say, something about the weather. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘I lied to you a moment ago. I did notice that the sun was shining brightly before I came here. I don’t know what made me say that I thought it was cloudy.’
‘Ellen,’ the doctor said, ‘you are evading me again. Would it matter too much if Basil didn’t love you?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I honestly don’t know.’
And, having said this, she was no longer frightened. She turned again and regarded the doctor, saw that his manner was as shy as before. ‘You know, Ellen,’ he was saying, ‘your husband might have met someone during those two years. You may be right – he may have changed. You will have to face that fact.’
‘I know.’
‘But that isn’t what matters, Ellen,’ he said. ‘Basil is not you. You are you. You cannot run away from yourself. You must live with yourself, take your life as it comes.’
‘Yes, I know. But I really don’t think – I don’t know, of course – but I don’t think that Basil—’
‘I’m not saying he has, Ellen. I’m not saying he will. I’m just saying that you must not be afraid of change.’
‘I understand, doctor. Thank you. Good-bye.’
‘Good-bye, Ellen. Speak to Miss Nichols about your next appointment as you leave, will you, please? I think next month will be soon enough – you know you may always telephone me if you need me.’
She closed the door on his voice, without turning back, and walked up to Miss Nichols’ desk. As she waited for the nurse to stop writing and look up, she realized for the first time that she was crying.
Julio’s was not yet crowded – she had arrived a little before the popular time – and she found a table on the terrace. From where she sat she could see the zoo in Central Park, the masses of children in their brightly coloured clothes weaving back and forth, the shaggy ponies pulling gaudy carts, the red and blue balloons tugging at their cords high above a vendor’s stand. It was so beautiful, so lively and appealing, that she found herself willing to sit still and do nothing but search for details in the shining scene, details that she was sure were there if she only had the perseverance to find them: the lost child – there was always a lost child at a zoo, wasn’t there? – the barking seals, the monkey house.
Nancy was late; but, then, Nancy was usually late. She had never really learned to like her husband’s sister, although at one time they had been friendly enough; but she did not dislike her either. To her Nancy was one of those people who make up the preponderant part of anyone’s acquaintanceship, that she thought of as being neither pleasant nor unpleasant, attractive nor unattractive, whom she could ignore or accept as she wished. Basil was fond of Nancy, and for this reason she had used to see her frequently, and now probably would again. Nancy was brusque and unfeminine, careless and off-hand, chattering. Sometimes her aimless talk was like a knife drawn across a china plate: it set her teeth on edge. She hoped that today would not be one of those times, today, when the sight of the zoo made her feel rested and acquiescent, when she would be so glad to leave off thinking, to detach herself from the bustle of the city and the problems of her return to life.
The waiter came, and she ordered a drink, something cooling and frothy which she had often seen others have but until that moment had not had the gumption to ask for herself. And as she turned her gaze back to the park, settled her vision once more on the kaleidoscope of children and animals, balloons and buildings, a small wisp of pink caught her eye and a thready shriek, interrupted by the gusty breeze, pricked her ear. She saw the blue coat, the foreshortened, stooping back of a policeman bending down to comfort a small girl, a child with gold curls and a tam, stalk-like legs and a starchy dress. The little girl was lost – who could doubt it? – the policeman had found her; perhaps her cries had led him to her. Now he was patting her head, consoling her, telling her not to worry, that everything would be all right, that mama would come for her soon.
The waiter set her drink down on the table, and she turned her eyes awa
y from the scene to take a sip, to taste it and see if she was going to like it, to be disappointed because it was so sweet. When she looked back, the wisp of pink and the patch of blue were gone, the kaleidoscope had whirled again and a different pattern met her eye. She felt sad and, almost, bereft. The lost child, for the briefest of instants, had been a part of her; they had shared an alienation, been united in distress. But now the spell was broken and the park became just another park with a small, cluttered zoo, and she was a silly woman, wasting time while waiting for a friend, drinking a sweet concoction that she did not like and should have known better than to order.
‘Darling! You look so sad, and on such a sunny day, too. Whatever is the matter?’ Nancy had arrived, her hands flying in wild gestures as she spoke, her eyes inquiring and aggressive, her teeth clenching an over-long jade holder from which a half-burnt cigarette drooped. ‘Whatever are you drinking? Pop?’
Nancy flopped down on the chair on the opposite side of the small, green, metal table, crouched and began to fumble with something. She kept making cooing noises, saying, ‘Now, now, sweetums – hold still! – now, ooh, isn’t he the sweetest thing! – hold still, damn you – there, there!’ Ellen looked over the table to see what was happening, and only then did she realize that Nancy had brought her dog along, a small animal of some obscure breed with outlandish ears and a frisky disposition. Nancy was busily tying a leash to one of the table-legs while her pet fretted at it, chewed her hand, growled playfully. ‘That’s Dangerous,’ said Nancy. ‘Isn’t he sweet?’
‘Why do you call him Dangerous?’ she asked. ‘He looks like he is only a puppy to me.’
Nancy had at last fastened the leash to the table, and now she assumed a proper posture. ‘He is only a puppy,’ she said. ‘He is only six months old. But he is Dangerous all the same. He likes to chew my canvas and paint-brushes. He has a frightful temper.’
This was going to be worse than she had supposed. Had Nancy been this exuberant before? Or was she putting on a show for her, hiding her embarrassment at meeting her again after – after what had happened? She remembered that during all the time she had been at the hospital Nancy had not been to see her once. Not that she had minded. There had been days when she could not have coped with Nancy. But she could not keep from wondering why.
‘How have you been, darling? It’s so good to see you
it’s been such an age! And what is that you’re having? You didn’t tell me, you know – although I asked. If it’s really good I think I’ll have one, too. It’s such a pretty colour.’
She told her the name of the drink and that she did not recommend it. Nancy beckoned a waiter to her and ordered a martini, ‘But dry – very dry. It must be all gin with just a dash – a dash, only a dash, mind you! – of your best vermouth. And a walnut half – just half of a walnut, you know – in place of the olive.’
Nancy seemed older, and slightly grim about the mouth. Her broad, large-featured, peasant’s face, which she tried to make look feminine by copious use of rouge and lipstick, pancake make-up and mascara – but which she only succeeded in making look garish – seemed more than ever to have been crudely hacked from recalcitrant granite. Her hands, that she never quite managed to scrub free of pigment stains, now seized the menu and twisted it sideways, to catch the light, for her inspection. Her eyes swept over the printed page as they might appraise a model, noting the appetizers, the entrees, the desserts, the anatomy of luncheon. But her mind returned to her original quest, and she asked, ‘Ellen, you look so sad. Is anything wrong?’
‘I am a lost child,’ she said. ‘I am wandering through the park. I don’t know where I am – how I am going to get home.’ As she spoke, she smiled, taking a perverse pleasure in confusing practical, down-to-earth Nancy.
‘Whatever are you talking about?’ Nancy cried. She laid down the menu and regarded Ellen with frank curiosity.
She expects me to be strange, but not this strange, she thought. But she said, ‘I was looking at the zoo across the way, and I saw a little girl who was lost – she was crying her heart out. A policeman found her and took her away. But, for a moment, just before you came, I thought I was that child – I felt a little lost, a little sad, myself.’
‘Well! I’m glad it isn’t anything more than a fancy. I was worried about you when I saw you looking so melancholy. Let me have a taste of that stuff will you? I can’t resist its colour. Faugh! It’s positively insipid. I’m glad you’re drinking it, not me!’
The dog jumped up and created a diversion. First, he had to have his head petted – then, when he began to lick her hands, she had to discipline him, to slap his muzzle and push him down.
‘If he doesn’t learn when he’s young, he’ll never obey,’ Nancy said.
‘And how is the painting, Nancy?’ she asked, aware that she must keep the conversation going, keep Nancy well supplied with topics, prevent her from asking questions about herself. For Nancy was a painter, and not a bad one – she had had several shows – although her paintings did not sell and she was forced to live off her brother’s generosity. But Ellen knew that Nancy liked to talk about her work, her great, forceful canvases that seemed to stand back and fling the fieriest hues of the spectrum at your eye.
‘Oh, well enough,’ the woman replied glumly. ‘Although I’ve not sold anything yet this year. Basil says it’s because I’m experimenting with Duco. The stuff they use on autos, you know. You spread it thickly on to masonite – it gives you a glistening opacity, a strength and vigour you can’t get with anything else.’
‘I would think it would be rather gaudy.’
Nancy stretched her hand out across the diminutive table and clasped Ellen’s wrist. Her eyes sparkled. ‘But, darling, it is! That’s the whole point, you see. With it you can paint violently. It forces you to be vigorous, darling. You should see some of the wonderful things the Mexicans have done with Duco.’
‘The Mexicans? You mean Rivera?’ She tried to concentrate on what Nancy was talking about, as one listens to a parrot’s garbled speech intent on discovering what catch-phrase is being cawed so raucously; but her mind kept going back to the doctor’s consulting-room. Until now she had forced herself not to think of what the doctor had said, had kept herself from trying to unravel the hidden meaning in his allegory of the sunshine and the changing weather. But it was becoming more difficult, even in the face of her companion’s vivacity.
‘Not Rivera!’ cried Nancy. ‘The real Mexicans, Orozco. Sequieros. They have done remarkable things. Genuine people’s art.’
‘Isn’t Rivera a real Mexican?’ she asked. She remembered when Nancy had been furious about the destruction of the Rockefeller mural, when Rivera had been, for her, the greatest painter alive. Had she changed her mind? It was not really surprising if she had. Wasn’t that what Dr Danzer had said? Everything changed. Even Basil. Perhaps, even herself, Ellen.
‘But, darling,’ Nancy was saying, ‘surely you know about that? The great Diego has gone completely commercial – really, the whole hog! Of course, he was always unreliable – politically, I mean. But now he does murals for night clubs in Mexico City to titivate the tourist trade. Great, obscene, maundering things. And when one looks at his other work – what he did before – well, really, you know, one wonders. Yes, one wonders if one hadn’t been taken in!’
She had forgotten how readily Nancy’s opinions were likely to be influenced by current events – by politics, in fact. Both of them, Basil and Nancy, liked to think themselves liberals, although she sometimes doubted if they understood the meaning of the word. With them it was what everyone was doing that counted; they were adept at scenting out the popular attitude, the trend, and did not scruple to follow it even if it meant the destruction of old gods. They were not afraid of change; but then, they had no roots. They were adrift on the sea of the present, driven on to this or that shoal of opinion by the winds of the moment, by cant and prejudice.
‘I thought you liked Ri
vera?’ she asked, to see how her friend would wriggle free from the past, how she would disclaim an old loyalty. ‘Didn’t you use to paint in his manner? And weren’t you one of the group who formed a meeting of protest when Rockefeller refused to let his mural stand in Radio City?’
Nancy laughed and tugged at her dog’s leash. ‘But, darling, that was ages ago. So much has happened since.’ Her eyes widened as she tried to express incredulity. ‘One makes mistakes. I’m the first one to admit I do. One’s taste changes. I know mine has. One grows, one progresses.’
A car backfired, punctuating her phrase and disturbing her pet, who began to scurry frantically around the table-leg – entangling his mistress and himself in the leash – barking furiously. It all made a very pretty symbol of confusion.
Not until they were having their coffee did Nancy refer to Ellen’s illness. Throughout lunch she had continued to talk about her painting, telling anecdotes and gossiping about her friends, many of whom were even more eccentric than herself. Dangerous had kept barking and begging for food. Nancy had at first refused to feed him, slapping at his muzzle and shouting at him to ‘Sit down, sir – down, damn you! – will you look at that! – what a pest he is!’ But later the dog’s constant racket had worn down her desire to train him properly and she had tossed him those morsels which she did not want to eat herself: bits of salad, a chop bone and a corn stick. After pushing them around in a greasy circle with his nose, the puppy had disdained them, too, until the waiter had stooped to retrieve them – then he had growled and snapped and created an even greater disturbance.
He was yapping again now, as they sipped the coffee. Nancy ignored him and smiled at Ellen. ‘It must be good to be back in New York after so long a time,’ she said. ‘But tell me, don’t you find everything just a little strange?’
She had been looking out at the Park, watching the trees and bushes sway in the breeze; Nancy’s question startled her. For an instant she thought she was back in the doctor’s office, facing the glaring sun that streamed through the window, trying to distinguish his face against the bright background. But when she turned around, she realized it was Nancy who had spoken.
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