“Mrs. Bowen, have you ever had an affair?”
Emily took her hands in shocked silence from the piano keys and swung around on the bench. “Good heavens, Mimi, what a question!”
“I mean since you’ve been married,” Mimi said.
“No!” Emily’s voice was still startled.
“My mother has,” Mimi said, and waited.
Emily didn’t say anything. She turned back to the piano and with her right hand played a few unrelated notes. Finally she said, “It’s rather a strange question, Mimi. Why are you asking it?”
“Oh, I just wondered,” Mimi said. She had started to say “about you and Mr. Fielding” but her courage failed her. “My mother doesn’t have a great many affairs. But she does have them. I suppose Jake has them, too, but he’s away on tour so much that I don’t see him very often.”
Still with one hand Emily played the opening measures of the Chabrier. “I suppose it’s different with your parents,” she said at last. “They’re both very great people and they can go beyond the standards that apply to ordinary human beings.”
“Is it because of morals, then?” Mimi asked.
“Is what because of morals?”
“That you’ve never had an affair.”
“You’re a most impertinent child,” Emily said, though she smiled a little so that her words would not seem too cruel.
“I’m sorry,” Mimi said. “I don’t mean to be impertinent. It’s because I’ve been so abominably brought up. Please let me ask just one more question. It’s a matter of ethics, you see, and I’m very interested in ethics.” She paused hopefully, and as Emily said nothing she continued. “You don’t approve of affairs, do you?” She continued to stare as Emily’s eyes turned black and the corners of her mouth drew barely perceptibly in and down.
“No,” Emily said. “I don’t think I do approve of affairs.” There was a long silence, and then, with both hands, Emily finished the Chabrier.
While her fingers still rested on the piano keys Mimi asked her, “But do you think ethically it may be different for artists than ordinary people?”
“I don’t know, Mimi,” Emily said flatly. “I don’t really think it should be, but perhaps it is. Perhaps artists can see beyond our confused moral code to one that is more truly ethical. On the other hand, lots of them are simply selfish and cause other people a lot of pain.”
“Clare and Jake seem to have worked things out satisfactorily. I don’t think they hurt people. And you’re a kind of artist in your own right, aren’t you?” Mimi looked at Emily’s hands still resting lightly on the piano keys.
Emily took her hands and dropped them in her lap and looked down at them. “Not much of a one,” she said shortly. “Any particular reason for this conversation, Mimi?”
“Oh, no,” Mimi lied quickly. “Just something in the letter I got from Clare today.”
Emily stood up, relieved. “Come on, Mimi. If we’re going to the mer de glâce tomorrow we might as well get a good night’s sleep.… And don’t worry about your mother,” she added awkwardly.
When Mimi got into bed Virginia did not speak, but Mimi knew that she was not asleep, and after a moment she said, “Hey, Vee, I’m frozen. Mind if I come get in with you for a sec and warm up?”
For answer Virginia moved aside and pulled the covers back. Mimi got in beside her and lay there in the darkness in the narrow cot on her back, staring up at the ceiling and the faintly reflected snow light. “Been crying?” she asked after a while.
Virginia shook her head. “No.”
“This is your first encounter with the rude facts of life, isn’t it, Vee?” Virginia said nothing, and after a moment Mimi put a hand gently on her shoulder, saying, “Look, Vee, it isn’t all that terrible.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Ever hear of Emile Girard, the Nobel Prize winning physicist, end quote?”
“Yes.”
“He was one of Clare’s.”
“Clare’s what?”
“I’ve already told you that Clare’s had—that there’ve been other people she’s cared about since she married Jake. And it hasn’t been the end of the world. Or their marriage.”
“You’re talking too loud,” Virginia said. “Whisper.”
“If you don’t want them to know you’d better act more normal tomorrow than you did tonight.”
“I said I had a stomach-ache.”
“You can’t go on having a stomach-ache for the rest of the hols. Now look, dear infant, I think you’re taking all this too seriously.”
“Am I?”
“You’re judging on circumstantial evidence only. As a matter of fact I did, too. But after all a kiss doesn’t constitute an affair.” Virginia was silent and after a moment Mimi continued, “People kiss for lots of reasons other than being passionately in love. After all your mother and Mr. Fielding are old friends. Hey, you’re taking more than your share of the édredon. I’m cold.”
“If you kissed Sam that way would you consider yourselves just friends?” Virginia demanded.
“No, but I’m half in love with Sam.” Mimi pulled the eiderdown about her shoulders. “Look, Vee, I think you ought to give your mother the benefit of the doubt. You’ve trusted her for a good many years, haven’t you? And there isn’t any real reason to stop now, is there? Or isn’t this the first time?”
“Of course, it’s the first time!” Virginia was indignant.
“Shh. Then I don’t think you ought to judge without knowing the whole story.”
“How am I going to know the whole story?”
“In all probability you’re not, and that’s exactly why you shouldn’t judge. One thing I’m quite positive of and that is that your mother and Mr. Fielding haven’t had an affair yet, and if they haven’t had one yet maybe you’re just worrying about nothing.”
“Isn’t a—what we saw—isn’t that an affair?”
“Hush, you’re the one who keeps talking louder and louder. No, it isn’t. Not technically.”
“What is, technically?”
“Oh, you know, Vee. The whole business. A plain kiss isn’t. And I ought to know.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think I got sent away to boarding school this winter?”
“I never thought about it,” Virginia said. “The same reason all the rest of us were, I suppose, to get an education.”
“Education my Aunt Fanny. At least half the kids are there to get them out from under their parents’ feet. As for me, I already know more than half the teachers there will ever know. I was getting a far better education at the lycée than at that desiccated nursery school.”
“Why, then?”
“My most unfavorite aunt found me in a compromising attitude at Claude Massein’s studio.” She paused for effect, but as there was no response from Virginia she continued. “I now realize that Claude Massein as well as being one of the best stage designers in Paris is also an out-and-out heel. However, at the time I was passionately in love with him, and I thought, stupid naïve idiot that I was, that he was in love with me.”
“Wasn’t he?”
“Tante Léonie told Clare and Clare woke up to the fact that I am a growing girl, and there was great sound and fury from Tante Léonie about just how far our intimacy had gone. I think in her heart she was very disappointed that I was not deflowered.”
“Deflowered?”
“That I hadn’t let myself be seduced. That I was—am—technically still a virgin. Well, a technicality was all I could get by on, but technicalities of that sort are very important to people like my Tante Léonie. Anyhow, Jake was away on tour, of course. He always manages to be when family emergencies arise. So Clare went to see Claude. I went along with her and I was supposed to wait downstairs, but I was so full of wild love for that louse Claude and so sure he’d explain everything to Clare and make me an honest woman as soon as I got through medical school that I went upstairs. The door of the studio was open and there he was pursui
ng Clare around the easel. Fortunately she’s quick and she’s strong and she can cope with any situation, but after a while, so that she wouldn’t have to do any more coping, I made my presence known.”
Beside Mimi in the bed Virginia was shivering. Mimi laid one strong hand on Virginia’s thigh and sighed. She had sacrificed herself on the altar of friendship in offering Virginia the story of her humiliation, and now that it was told it seemed to have no real bearing on the issue; it had not even served to divert Virginia’s attention from the picture of Emily and Abe there in the snow, locked in each other’s arms; and nothing she could say would make the embrace seem casual, and no talking of technicalities make it less important. She sighed again and said, “Vee, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about what I’ve just told you to your parents.”
“Of course not,” Virginia said.
“They think I’m a sweet young girl and suitable to be your companion and I don’t want to disillusion them. And Vee—”
“What?”
“Don’t say anything to Sam, either. I want him to—to go on thinking well of me. So if you don’t mind—”
“I wouldn’t say anything. You know that,” Virginia said. Then, after a moment, “I’m sorry, Mimi, about—about what’s his name. Claude. It must have been—I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Vee,” Mimi said, “love’s such a funny sort of business and we go at it like bulls in china shops. At least I do. All I really wanted to say was that we don’t understand as much about it as we think we do. And Clare and Jake—I know they’ve done things that aren’t moral by lots of people’s standards, but they’re pretty terrific, both of them, and each one is the only person in the world for the other. They really have a marriage, Vee.”
Virginia lay very still in the narrow bed and Mimi said briskly, “Well, night’s a-wasting and we must get some sleep. I’ll hie me back to my own cot.” She got up and clumsily tucked the covers around Virginia before getting into her own bed. The sheets were icy cold and she pulled the covers tightly around her. For the first time Mrs. Bowen had forgotten to fill one of the copper hot-water bottles for her. She burrowed deeper under the covers, pressing her face into the pillow, whispering in a muffled voice, “Good night, Vee.”
“Good night, Mimi,” Virginia whispered in return.
At the hotel Abe got ready for bed. Sam was already in his pajamas, reading, and they did not talk. Sam looked up from his book once, but he saw his father’s set face, the line of the jaw tight and tense, and he did not speak. He looked up again as Abe came in from the bathroom, still holding his toothbrush in his hand, saying, “Sam, I’ve made reservations for us in Bandol for Sunday.”
Sam looked up from his book in unbelief. “Which Sunday?”
“This coming. You’ve never been to the South of France and I thought we might as well push off a few days before Christmas.”
Sam dropped his book. “I thought the idea was we were to spend the Christmas holidays here where we could have winter sports.”
“Nothing was definite,” Abe said. “It’s more fun to have a flexible schedule. We’ve had some winter sports and now I’m about ready for a little sun and warmth.”
“But I like it here,” Sam said flatly. “I don’t want to go to the South of France. I haven’t the slightest interest in spending Christmas anywhere but here.”
Abe returned his toothbrush and towel to the bathroom, and came out, shutting the door behind him. “Christmas in a hotel is rather dreary. If we go to Bandol the Dunsteads will undoubtedly ask us for Christmas dinner. They have one of the show places on the Riviera and I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“If we stay here, I bet you anything Mrs. Bowen will ask us for Christmas dinner,” Sam said, “even if theirs isn’t a show place.”
“The Dunsteads have a very charming daughter, “Abe said.
Sam sat up in bed. “So that’s why you want to leave!” he cried furiously. “It isn’t anything to do with being tired of winter sports and wanting some sun at all and you know it! Why didn’t you just say what you were driving at and have done with it!”
“Now hold everything, Sam,” Abe said. “Just what is this you think I’m driving at?”
“Mimi.”
“Mimi?”
“If you don’t approve of Mimi it would have been much better if you’d just said so, man to man.”
“But I do approve of Mimi,” Abe said, “though I wasn’t aware that things had gone so far with the two of you that you’d accuse me of taking you off to Bandol for Christmas “for that reason.”
“Things haven’t gone that far,” Sam said. “That’s one reason I don’t want to go.”
“I see,” Abe said. “I’m sorry, Sam. Mimi doesn’t have a thing to do with my decision, but I’m afraid it is a decision, and one we’re going through with.”
“Why, dad?”
“Sam, I’m afraid I can’t tell you. You’ll just have to trust me when I assure you that it is necessary. And that it has nothing whatsoever to do with you and Mimi.”
“You do like Mimi, then?”
“Yes, what little I’ve seen of her, very much.”
“Dad, do we really have to go? It really is that important?”
“Yes, Sam, I’m afraid it is.”
“Well, could I know why, then? I’ll have to tell Mimi.”
“You can tell her it’s business.”
“Is it?”
“Not entirely.”
“Dad, has anything been bothering you lately? You’ve seemed so sort of up and down.”
“Have I, Sam? I’m sorry.”
“Dad, do you mind if I kind of have a talk with you?”
“Not at all, Sam. Go ahead.” Abe got into bed but he did not open the windows. He lay back on the pillows, clasping his hands behind his head.
“You know, dad, I remember some good talks we’ve had about adolescence and some of the problems of growing up. They’ve helped me a lot.”
“Have they, Sam? I’m glad.”
“You know, the facts of life and all that stuff. I’m glad I got it all from you and didn’t just pick it up the way some of the other kids have had to.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, Sam.”
“But you know what, dad, I’ve read things in various magazines and books and places about men when they get in their forties.…”
“What about men in their forties?”
“Well, that it’s a kind of dangerous period. I mean, it’s sort of a time when they look around and make fools of themselves over gorgeous blondes and stuff.”
Abe chuckled. “Are you worried about my taking up with a gorgeous blonde?”
“Well, no, not exactly, but this rushing off to Bandol just sort of made me think of it. I don’t know whether there’s anybody there you want to see or something—but if you ever should think about getting married again or anything—well, don’t just rush into it. I mean you should be awfully sure it isn’t just your age kicking up the way you might say it was mine if I got too serious about Mimi or something and wanted to throw my education away and everything and just go off half-cocked and get married. I mean you have a lot you could throw away, too, and so if you ever should—not that there is anybody in Bandol or anything—you should just be awfully sure.”
“I promise you that if it ever happens I’ll be awfully sure, Sam,” Abe said.
“Well, that’s about all, I guess,” Sam said. “I hope you don’t mind, I mean my having talked to you like this.”
“Not at all.”
“And I do think you’re aging very well. I don’t mean aging exactly: You know what I mean.”
Abe laughed. “Yes, Sam. I know. I’ll try to decay as gracefully as possible.”
“I mean,” Sam said, “none of us at school can stand parents who go around trying to be younger than we are. Mothers who look as though they wanted you to ask them for a date and stuff. We like parents who’re—who’re grown people. I wonder what Mimi’s parents
are like? I imagine they’re a little bit odd but okay. And I like the Bowens. They’re okay, too. I bet Mr. Bowen’s a wow of a teacher in a quiet sort of way. And Mrs. Bowen’s a—I don’t know, I just feel kind of good around her. Want me to open the windows a crack, dad?”
“Not yet, thanks, Sam. Think I’ll take a shower first.”
“Okay. Think I’ll improve the shining hour and dash off a small line to my Mimi.”
—My Mimi, Abe thought. Well, he’s got pretty good taste. But maybe it’s just as well for his sake if not for mine that we’re heading for the Riviera and the Dunsteads’ beautiful daughter.…
Night lay breathing deeply between the mountains, its pulse throbbing through the village; the house creaked and crackled against the wind and the heavy book slipped from Courtney’s numb fingers and crashed to the floor, but Emily lying beside him did not waken. He leaned over the side of the bed to retrieve the book but the bed was high and suddenly the effort seemed too enormous. If it were earlier, if he weren’t so bone-tired, he would like to go up to Gertrude’s chalet and play a game of chess with her and the two of them get quietly drunk together. Then everything else would be lost in a fuzzy feeling of camaraderie, and if his head ached in the morning he would at least have been able to get to sleep first.
“We’re two of a kind, you and I, Court,” Gertrude had said once, a glass of brandy in one hand, the white knight in the other. “That either of us should be here is only an accident. And in my better moments I realize that it isn’t the accident in the long run that counts; it’s what you do with it or what you let it do to you. What are we letting it do to us, Court? Is it bigger than we are? Are we that small? Do we feel that God has been mean to us and we won’t play any more? No wonder we have to get drunk. Not to forget our accident, but to forget ourselves. So it was a dirty deal you got shoved out of your job, but it’s happened to other people before. And I’m not the only person in the world to come out of the war with TB. I knew a woman who went blind.” She got up rather shakily and refilled their glasses; Kaarlo and Emily had gone to a concert that night. “A much more ghastly blow than mine. But she never lost her ability to laugh. I have, damn it. And she fought like mad, Court, but she didn’t fight against being blind. That was a fact and she accepted it as such, because there was no possible way by which that fact could be changed. What she fought—or how she fought—was not against, but for—for keeping intact her integrity, her independence, her faith in herself as an individual.”
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