“Will you marry me if you find out you’re going to have it?”
“Of course not.”
“What will you do with it?”
“I shall teach it to play the piano and take it to the theater.”
“It takes nine months to have a child, Katherine,” he said.
“I know that.”
There was a long silence. Then Katherine said, “Charlot?”
“Well?”
“How do you know if you’re going to have a child? How long does it take before you know?”
“If we were in Paris and I could take you to the right man, we could find out almost immediately. As it is, I guess you’ll just have to wait and let nature take its course.”
“Well, how will I know? Just if I miss my period?”
“Are you regular?”
“Not particularly.”
“When are you due?”
“Oh, I don’t know. About three weeks, I think.”
“Well, if you just miss one month, it won’t be anything to get frantic about. If you miss two, it’ll be pretty definite. You may have a bit of morning sickness and dizziness, but that’s not infallible. It could be caused by nervousness and fear of having a child. So if that should happen, don’t let it worry you too much.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Do you want a child?”
“No. It would mess everything all up. I don’t think it’s good to try to be creative in too many ways at once. Not when you’re my age, at any rate. I’d hate like fury to have a child right now.”
“Katherine, will you promise me one thing?”
“What?”
“If you do find out you’re going to have it, promise me you won’t do anything rash like—like having an abortion.”
“I told you if it happens I’ll have it.”
“What will they do at your school if they find out?”
“Oh, there’ll be a frightful row, and I’ll be expelled. It would be rather fun.”
“I wish your mother were alive.”
Katherine flung herself across the foot of the bed. “Oh, God! So do I! So do I!”
After a while Charlot asked her, “Katherine, is there anybody else?”
“What?”
“Are you in love with somebody else?”
“I don’t quite know.”
“Then you are.”
“No. No, I don’t think I am. It’s a different sort of thing. Not like anything else. Anyhow, I know there isn’t ever any hope. I’ll probably never see him again. And even if I did, it wouldn’t be possible. He’d never love me that way. If he ever wanted me, me, Katherine—well, he can always have whatever he wants, as far as I’m concerned. But he’d never want that. Besides, it’s different, anyhow. He’s so above me. It isn’t just that he’s older. He’s a great artist already, and I’m just a promise that may or may not be fulfilled. I believe it will be fulfilled, and I think he does, too, nevertheless, I’m still just a promise, and that’s not enough. I haven’t any right ever to bother him or ask to see him, and I’ll probably never get the chance again, anyhow.”
Charlot’s mouth tightened. “Why did you come to wake me if you feel the way you do about me?”
“Aunt Manya asked me to. She said you’d promised to go to Thônon with her to buy some new shirts.”
“Well, I’m not going.”
“You said you’d take me on one of the lake steamers today.”
“Do you want to go?”
“Yes. I do.”
“All right. We’ll go. I can’t talk to you here. Have you had breakfast?”
“No.”
“Well, go and eat. I’ll be down in a minute. You can tell Aunt Manya I’m not going to Thônon.”
Manya insisted on Charlot’s going to Thônon for the shirts, so it was just beginning to get dark when Katherine followed him up the gangplank to the small lake steamer.
“First, second, or third class?” he asked her.
“Third, of course. You can’t get down to the bow with first or second. Besides, who wants to go first or second, anyhow?”
They went up to the very front of the boat and stood leaning on the railing, looking out, farther apart than they ever had been in their lives. Katherine stood looking down at the water churning up yellow and green on either side of the boat, and suddenly she realized that the color of the churning water was the color of the horizon of the winter sky on the day she had gone for a walk with Julie on Manya’s farm, on the day she had first met Charlot, the day that was so indelibly printed in her memory.
She pulled Charlot’s sleeve gently. “Charlot—”
“Well?”
“You think I did a very awful thing?”
“I don’t know.”
“But it wasn’t the first time with you, was it?”
“No.”
“And when you did it before, feeling the same way I did, you didn’t think it was awful?”
“I guess not.”
“Then why should it be with me?”
“I don’t know.”
Again Katherine tugged at his sleeve. “Charlot—”
“Well?”
“Charlot, please be really honest. You’re not involved in me, all of you, really and truly, you know you’re not. You’re not less yourself when you’re away from me. Last night you were just attracted to me, and I was to you, and we’d both had a little too much to drink, and we were both—well, you know what I mean. And you want so much to be in love with someone, and have the security of having someone, and you keep hoping you’ll find something of Mother in me, and you love me a little extra anyhow just because I’m Mother’s daughter and so I’m somehow a little part of her, or at any rate something that was hers, like a handkerchief or a dress, and you just let everything fool you into pretending that it would be good for you to be in love with me. But you’re not. Isn’t that so?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, I do … You said last night that you knew what was right and wrong by thinking how Mother would feel about it. Mother hated dishonesty more than anything in the world. Please—”
“All right,” he said after a long while. “I guess it’s all true, everything you say.”
“Well, then, it’s all right, isn’t it? There isn’t any reason for everything to be spoiled. We had a lovely evening last night, both of us. It’ll never be repeated, because it just couldn’t be, with us being us. But it was lovely, and there’s no need to spoil it by trying to make it ugly when it wasn’t, and there’s no need for us to spoil our love for each other because of it.”
“What about the baby?”
“I may not have one.”
“If you do, then I’ve done a dreadful thing.”
“Oh, I see!” she cried. “Now I really understand! If I have a baby, one of us will have to be blamed, and you’d much rather have it be me. It’s not so much what other people think that bothers you. I know you’re not that kind of a coward. It’s that you don’t want to have to blame yourself! Well, you’re crazy. It isn’t your fault any more than mine. You didn’t force yourself on me. It was something that was perfectly natural, as natural as breathing, and I don’t think anything as natural as that can be sinful. It may be inconvenient, but it’s not sinful. Maybe people will make it out as sinful, but it isn’t, really, and as long as we know that, it’s all right. If it became cheap or too easy, it would be bad—but just last night, all alone, all by itself, you can’t make me think it’s a sin, and that’s that.”
He stood there stiffly, staring out over the prow of the boat, the lines on either side of his mouth very white. Gradually she felt his body relax, and he put his arm around her and said, “I wish more than anything in the world that we were in love with each other.”
“So do I. It would be lovely, wouldn’t it? But we’re not, and it seems to me that it would just mess up our lives more to pretend we were than to face the truth right now. I think t
hat’s what Mother would feel, at any rate. But I do love you very much, Charlot, just plain loving.”
The wind was in their faces, and her bangs were blown back and her braids flopped against her shoulders. Leaning against the prow of the boat, with Charlot’s arm protectively around her, she suddenly felt at peace, and the words of the old psalm came back to her mind:
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills
From whence cometh my help.
My help cometh from the Lord,
Which made heaven and earth.
He will not suffer thy foot to be moved;
He that keepeth thee will not slumber.
Behold, he that keepeth Israel
Shall neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord is thy keeper;
The Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand.
The sun shall not smite thee by day,
Nor the moon by night
The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil;
He shall preserve thy soul.
The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in
From this time forth, and even for evermore.
—I do believe in God—she thought.—I do believe in God. The mountains and the lake and the possibility of people like Mother and Justin being born, that’s really enough. Even if I have a baby—she thought—it can’t make life much more uncertain or strange than it is already. And I don’t care what other people think, just people in general, as long as I know I’m all right, and the few people I really care about know it. Right now it’s just Justin and I don’t know when I’ll see him again, but I will see him again, because I will it so intensely.—
“I envy faith,” Charlot said suddenly. Silence again between them and the sound of the wind and the waves in their ears.
Katherine said at last, because she knew Charlot wanted her to talk, “Sarah and I divided the world into four classes.”
“Did you, darling? What are they?”
“There are People. That’s almost everybody. Just people. The kind of people who are hidebound by convention, who have no understanding, no compassion, who are unhappy and don’t even know it, and because of their own unhappiness subconsciously enjoy condemning other people in an effort to make them even more unhappy. Then there are real people. They’re a very small class, and very wonderful. They’re not creators, they’re not artists, but they can understand and appreciate consciously, not just animalistically. They don’t feel, with People, and with that man in the Old Testament, that anybody who tries to create is automatically condemned. You know the kind of person I mean. Then there’s the other kind. The phony artists. The trouble with them is that a lot of times they convince you that they’re first-class, and then it’s awful when you find out; and they can do a tremendous amount of harm. Then there’s the last class of all. Sarah and I called it our kind, but that was presumptuous of us. It’s what we want to be, what we must always try to be, or there’s no point in living. It’s what Mother was, and what Justin is. Don’t laugh at me. I know all this sounds awfully pompous and childish. We thought it was very impressive. I see now that it isn’t.”
“I’m not laughing,” Charlot said. And again they were silent. At last he said, “Someday I’d like to have a ship, an old-fashioned sailing vessel. And I’d like to have you for the figurehead. I’d strap you to the prow of the boat and let your hair stream out in a dark shadow behind you and leave you there for the sea gulls to peck out your eyes.”
Katherine said solemnly. “I think I am blind. I don’t see things clearly the way I used to. I’ve become confused, and it’s frightening. Mother was so clear. Always. That’s why some people thought she was awful, because people who have vision are always condemned. I’m so confused that it’s become a kind of physical tiredness. I ache all over with the confusion, and I want to be held in somebody’s arms. But it can’t be just anybody. I don’t mean to sound like a tragic queen. I know I’m just a silly little girl. But it’s all right for me to talk to you, isn’t it, Charlot?”
“Of course, my darling,” he said, and they stood close to one another looking out across the lake, and night fell, softly, hushing them.
After a week Charlot had to go back to Paris. Katherine missed him, but she felt relieved at his departure, too. She took long walks by herself, spent long hours at the piano, read in front of the huge fire at night. Several times Manya tried to talk to her, but she felt so nervous, was so afraid of the sword of Damocles dangling over her head, that she couldn’t have talked even if she had wanted to.
In the end, however, she talked. She had gone to bed early with a book. She was still reading when she heard Manya and Tom come upstairs, was still reading half an hour later, when there was a knock on her door.
“Who is it?” she called.
“It’s Manya.”
“Oh, come in, Aunt Manya.”
Manya wore one of her many crimson dressing gowns. Her hair was down, her feet bare. “Katya, is there a Bible here?” she asked, going over to the bookshelves.
“I think there’s a French one.”
Manya ran her finger across a row of books. “Yes. Here it is.” She gave the small black volume to Katherine. “Find me the third verse of the fifth chapter of Romans, will you?” she asked.
Katherine found the place and handed the Bible back to Manya, who read aloud.
“Et non seulement cela, mais nous nous glorifions même dans nos afflictions, sachant que l’affliction produit la patience, et la patience l’épreuve, et l’épreuve l’ésperance … And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope.”
She put the book back in its place.
“There! I knew I was right. Tom swore it was in The Acts of the Apostles.” She looked at Katherine for a moment, then came and sat on the edge of her bed.
“What are you reading, Katya? … Proust? He’s always struck me as being very boring and depressing, but of course that may be because I read him in Russian, and I don’t think Russian’s very good for Proust. Even if I don’t care for him, I find him very true; don’t think he’s ever false except that he does see everything through unhealthy eyes. And I do wish he didn’t find it necessary to say everything quite so many times. Which one have you? Hmm. Albertine Disparue. Well, if you want to read it, it’s up to you, darling, but don’t flaunt it in front of your father.”
“I won’t.”
“Katya.”
“What?”
“I don’t mean to pry, dear. I do respect your privacy, you know that. But I hate to see you unhappy.”
“I’m all right.”
“You’re all wrong enough to make me very uneasy about you. Couldn’t we have a talk? Are you angry with me because I’ve been such a neglectful, irresponsible stepparent?”
“Don’t be silly. You know I adore you. And I know the beastly school’s father’s fault.”
“Well, then, Katyusha, what is it? You look as though you were waiting for something horrible to happen.”
After a moment Katherine looked up at her and said, “I’m afraid I may be going to have a baby.”
If Manya was shocked she gave no sign of it.
“Whose?” she asked.
“Charlot’s.”
“I see.”
“You won’t tell Father?”
“Of course not … We’ll go to Évian tomorrow. Dr. Varron is staying there—supposed to be on a holiday, but I know him quite well, and I think he’ll see you for my sake.”
Katherine felt a great relief as Manya took things out of her hands. “If I have to have one, you’ll help me?” she asked.
Manya ignored this question. “When did this happen between you and Charlot?”
“The second night I was here. The night we went to the kermesse.”
“Then you haven’t really had time to notice any symptoms.”
“No. I guess not.”
“Well, we won�
��t cross any bridges until we come to them, my child … Was it Charlot’s fault?”
“No.”
“You knew what you were doing?”
“I guess so.”
“Had you been drinking?”
“Yes. But I can’t blame it on that … Are you angry with me?”
“Angry?”
“Do you think I did something dreadful?”
“Are you in love with Charlot?”
“No.”
“I feel that I am the last person to have the right to condemn anyone,” said Manya, after a pause. “And then I think of words—I think they seem more revealing when you think of words not in your own language. I think of the word passion. And then of compassion.” She stood up and pulled her crimson dressing gown about her. “We must try to get some sleep. I’ll have Josef call you early and we’ll set out for Évian before Tom wakes up. Good night, Katya.”
“Good night, Aunt Manya.”
There was to be no baby. When they were assured of this, Katherine and Manya wired Charlot in Paris and then both behaved with a kind of childish gaiety that made Tom ask if they had been drinking.
“No,” said Manya, “but it’s a very good idea. We’ll have champagne at dinner to celebrate.”
“To celebrate what?” Tom asked.
“Oh, just our all being together and so fond of one another,” Manya said.
Only once again during the holidays did she mention the matter. “Kisienka, just because there weren’t any disastrous results this time—” she began.
But Katherine cut her short. “Don’t worry, Aunt Manya. It won’t happen again. Don’t feel you’re obliged to give me a moral talk. I’ll behave with Victorian propriety. Besides, I’m going back to school soon. I’m safe enough there. You needn’t worry.”
Manya put her arms around her stepchild. “Oh, darling, I hate to send you back again.”
“Never mind,” Katherine said. “I understand. Father. I understand why he feels that way about me, too. You’ve always been wonderful to me, even when I’ve been horrid and ungrateful. I don’t forget that. And then I can remember that thing from Paul you read the other night. I sort of like it. ‘Et non seulement cela, mais nous nous glorifions même dans nos afflictions, sachant que l’affliction produit la patience, et la patience l’épreuve, et l’épreuve l’ésperance.’”
The Small Rain Page 19