by Susan Sontag
But if Diddy hadn’t been thinking at this moment how Hester’s blindness and her consequent need for a reliable and loving protector favored his courtship, would he then have regretted her being blind? On her behalf, yes. The truth is, Diddy doesn’t really think of Hester as being blind. In the sense that the world is divided into two camps: the fortunate majority with normal eyesight, and the tiny minority of the blind. The world is not so simple. Diddy saw eyes everywhere. Everyone has some kind of eyes. There are the squinty-eyed, the fish-eyed, the dragon-eyed, the piercing-eyed, the wolf-eyed. And the no-eyed and the all-eyed. The no-eyed not to be confused with the blind. And besides their number and qualities and uses, eyes may be distinguished by their composition. Some people’s eyes are made of water; others of vapor; and others of crystalline splinters. Diddy thought his own eyes might be made of paper; at best, a tough parchment. Whereas Hester’s eyes were made of the same soft flesh as her sex. For him, she had seeing eyes, and always had. All over her body. Like those animals such as the frog and the guinea pig and the rat, whose skin is rich in the pigment melanin; making the entire surface of their bodies responsive to light. Like that Russian girl with extra-ocular vision recently discovered by scientists, who can read—slowly—with her elbow.
Were it within Diddy’s powers to make Hester see, he would. But he could also be grateful that the operation this afternoon changed nothing. Leaving her sight and the rest of her health exactly as they were before.
Leave everything as it is. Just walk in the rain. So Diddy will not go back to the conference. He will stroll and daydream for an hour. Afterwards, get some coffee. And then return to the hospital.
As soon as she gets out of the hospital, they would return to New York. After that move, communication with Mrs. Nayburn would become extremely infrequent and casual—at least Diddy hoped Hester would agree to that, hoped she wanted to be free of her aunt’s supervision. When would they marry? So deep was Diddy’s feeling for Hester (now), and so powerful his wish to secure the tie between the girl and himself as strongly as possible, that he would like nothing better than to have the ceremony performed in the hospital. This week. Or downtown, at City Hall, the day she was discharged. For that speed, he’d even put up with having Mrs. Nayburn as godmother and witness. But perhaps Hester wouldn’t want to be rushed. Don’t! Diddy would count himself blessed if she consented to live with him on a trial basis.
So Mrs. Nayburn would be packed off, and Diddy and Hester would live together, marry legally whenever Hester was willing. But where would they live in New York? His apartment was too small. Not an apartment. Diddy would try to borrow money for the down payment on a house: a brownstone on the West Side, or perhaps, even cheaper, an old frame house on the fringe of Chinatown such as one he’d once gotten a rental agent to show him. Hester would know every inch of that house. Without having to extend her arms to keep from colliding with doors and walls and furniture. She would never bruise herself.
More rain. Diddy is getting drenched. There’s hardly anyone on the street (now). Does Hester like to walk in the rain? Diddy doesn’t know yet.
He stops in a phone booth to call the hospital. Gertrude, the head nurse on the floor, who knows Diddy by (now), tells him Miss Nayburn is still unconscious. She should be awake by eight. He can come for just a few minutes’ visit then.
It’s only six o’clock now. Time for more walking, and cups of coffee, two cheeseburgers, a slice of pie, another cheeseburger. By seven-thirty, Diddy is almost lost somewhere in the neighborhood. The sky is starting to clear, the rain is fading. Seven-thirty already. Perhaps she’s regained consciousness already. He hurries back to the hospital.
No one stops him at the nurse’s desk. Diddy races down the hall, then stops before the room. His heart is thumping loudly. And softly opens the door. Hester is awake, though lying flat on her back without any pillows. Mrs. Nayburn is by the bedside whispering. As Diddy comes in, he’s aghast at the pallor of that half of her face not masked by the thick white bandages. He rushes to the far side of the bed, leans over, and touches her cheek with his lips. “How do you feel?” She smiles wistfully. “Does it hurt?” She motions no with her hand. “Can you talk?”
“Yes.”
Diddy, burning, leans across the bed. “Mrs. Nayburn, would you please leave us alone for a few minutes?”
“Why?” the girl whispers.
“Hester!” Diddy pleads.
The aunt glances haughtily at both of them. “I’ll do whatever you say, lovey. I certainly never meant to be in anyone’s way.” Diddy’s no longer to be humored. His proposal blurted out, he’s already to be taken for granted.
“Hester!”
The girl strokes her aunt’s hand. “Yes. For just a few minutes.” Mrs. Nayburn rises with a sigh. “Don’t get her overexcited, Dalton,” she says as she leaves the room.
Diddy waits to hear the footsteps growing fainter as she moves down the corridor. Hears nothing. So she’s just outside. Still, there’s a door between.
“Hester, am I being very selfish? Was I cruel just now? It’s just that I had to be with you alone.”
She reaches up to touch his hand. “It’s raining, and you’ve been walking. For a long time?”
“Hours. Ever since I came at four-thirty, and they wouldn’t let me see you.”
“You could have stayed, and seen me earlier. When I woke up about a half hour ago, Aunt Jessie was right outside the door.”
“Hester, don’t reproach me. You’re right. But the thought of spending several hours in that woman’s company, while I was waiting for you, was intolerable. I had to go out.”
“I feel sorry for her,” the girl says in a strange weak voice Diddy has never heard before.
“For God’s sake, Hester, stop thinking about her for a moment. Tell me how you feel. Are you in physical pain?”
“I ache all over, I guess from the anaesthetic. Otherwise, I don’t know. No, I don’t think I’m in pain.”
“What about your … face. Your eyes.”
“No. I feel nothing there.”
“And how do you feel inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, are you very sad?”
“I’ve been sad all along. You know that I knew the operation wouldn’t work.”
“One more thing. Very important. Did your aunt tell you anything about what I said to her when I came this afternoon?”
“Yes, she told me you want to marry me.”
Diddy straightened up slightly from the uncomfortable position he’d adopted, in which he is leaning over Hester, his head above hers, his elbows and forearms resting on the mattress on either side of her head, the upper half of his body close but careful not to press on hers. She’d spoken (now) of what was most important to him, their future together; but in such an odd, remote way. Maybe he should never have brought the matter up. Saved it for tomorrow, when she would be stronger. Still, he couldn’t bear to pull away altogether. Without knowing more of what she felt or, at least, could feel (now).
“Were you surprised?” A stupid question. Take it back. No.
“Well, your telegram last night.…” Hester’s voice faded out.
Diddy should stop asking questions. Oh, please! Only one more. “Are you glad?”
“I’m not sure.”
Diddy’s limbs stiffen. “Not sure of what? Not sure you can be happy with me?”
“Oh,” the girl says wearily. “I can be happy with almost anyone, I think. It depends on me, whether I’m happy within myself.”
“But you weren’t happy living with your aunt? Yes or no?”
“No, I wasn’t happy.”
“Will you leave her and live with me?”
“I’ll try.” Diddy, speechless with joy, lowers his face and kisses Hester’s cheek. Is that all, really all? Is there no special eloquence needed? Nothing more he has to say? Not really. But Diddy about to say something anyway. When he notices Hester moving her pale cracked lips; her voice so lo
w he has to strain to hear it.
“What, my love?”
“Can we call Aunt Jessie back now? She must be waiting outside.”
Are those the words that follow? Diddy can’t help feeling hurt. “Don’t you want to be alone with me, Hester? For just a few minutes?”
“I can’t be alone with anyone right now. I’m too tired, and I feel as if I’ve been sliced into a thousand pieces. Don’t you see, Dalton, there isn’t one person here for you to be alone with? So you mustn’t be jealous of my aunt.”
“I’ll try not to be.” He’s been clumsy, overbearing with his tenderness. Who is Diddy to insist that he’s better for Hester than her aunt?
He held the door open for Mrs. Nayburn. The woman walked stiffly to her niece’s bedside; began whispering to the girl. Diddy stands contritely at the window, graciously allowing the two women to ignore him.
The door opens again, to admit just the head of one of the nurses. “Visiting hours are over. Come back tomorrow.” Diddy stepped over to the bed, brought Hester’s right hand to his lips, said a husky good night to Mrs. Nayburn, and stepped rapidly into the hallway corridor.
Once out in the street, Diddy looks at his watch. Five minutes after eight. He’s missed most of the cocktail party from seven to nine o’clock at the Green Room of the Congress Hotel: biggest hotel in the city and four blocks from the Rushland. But has (now) really no excuse for not turning up at the company’s banquet to celebrate the end of the conference. Nine o’clock in the Terrace Room of the Congress. No point in offending Reager and Watkins, with whom he’ll have to spend tomorrow morning doing the television program. Diddy gets in a cab, returns to the Rushland, shaves again and changes his suit, and arrives at the Congress a few minutes before the hour.
Pretending not to notice Jim, signaling him from one of the long tables that he’s saved Diddy a seat. Diddy finds a seat near some men in the production department whom he scarcely knows, and managed to eat most of his dinner without speaking either to his neighbor on the right or to his neighbor on the left. Diddy, hungry, entertains the fantasy that he’s eating for Hester, who’s probably on liquid nourishment; as well as for himself. He’ll be strong for both of them tonight.
* * *
Saturday noon, after “Your Community,” Diddy is outside the two-story building that houses Channel 10. Shaking hands with Watkins, Reager, and the others. Receiving their compliments on his performance at the conference, particularly his contributions during the early sessions. And their wishes for a pleasant trip back to New York. Diddy forces himself to be silent.
“Taking the plane or a train, Harron?” asks Watkins.
“Train.”
“Take the Privateer,” said Reager. “That’s the crack train between here and New York. No train does that trip as fast. It leaves here at two-forty, so you should have plenty of time to make it.”
“I know the train,” said Diddy. Feeling bold. “I came up on it.”
The temptation to talk about the events at the beginning of the week has subsided. It’s not the story of Incardona which swells up in Diddy’s throat, rises, then thrusts itself behind his teeth. Pushing to come out. The words that want to spill through Diddy’s mouth (now) concern the future. We all look rather genial this morning. Diddy feels his soul is lacquered with milk. It would be a pleasure to tell his bosses and colleagues what he really intends.
Don’t. What use would that be?
Diddy returns to the Rushland, and first stops off at the desk. Instructs the clerk to prepare his bill. Then he goes up to his room, and packs his suitcase.
Of course, he’s not going to the station to catch the Privateer. Is he insane? No. Diddy carries his suitcase downstairs, pays his bill, goes outside the hotel, and has a cab hailed. Once inside, he tells the driver to drive to the Warren Institute. “What I really mean is around the Institute.” Asks if he can recommend a decent hotel in that neighborhood.
“I’d try the Canada,” says the driver. “Unless you’re looking for something real cheap.”
Fine, says Diddy. Let’s go.
Passing Monroe Park, high afternoon, Saturday, November (now), the day after a rain. Yesterday’s rain and wind have practically swept the remaining autumn leaves from the trees.
Single with shower and bath?
In less than an hour Diddy unpacked and installed. One bed, and a larger room than he had at the Rushland. Pleasanter, too, than the other hotel, because (now) he’s out of the center of town. From his window, a good view of the park. And beyond the park, Diddy can see two towers of cream-colored stone, the principal buildings of the Warren Institute.
Two-thirty. Diddy calls the hospital, is told he can visit Hester briefly around six o’clock. Time for a two-hour nap. Leaving time enough to accomplish one more piece of business. At five-fifteen Diddy sits at the small glass-topped desk opposite the foot of his bed; writes another letter to Duva, requesting a sick leave. During the week of the conference, Diddy explains, he has undergone a series of tests at the Warren Institute to try to learn more about his old virus infection which had laid him low again just a month ago. This morning has gotten the reports on the tests; and the doctors have prescribed a course of treatment to effect a permanent cure of the recurring infection, for which approximately ten days’ hospitalization is required. Diddy will need to remain upstate for at least another two weeks.
Downstairs. Diddy buys a stamp from a machine and puts the letter in the mailbox in the lobby. Has a sandwich at the drugstore on the corner. Walks across the park. The sun has already set, and the park is practically empty. Notices two little girls, about eight and ten, on the swings. Bright, strong, fleshy, seeing children such as he and Hester will have one day.
As he enters Hester’s room, Mrs. Nayburn starts up awkwardly. “Be back in a few minutes, lovey.” And darts out of the room.
Diddy standing near Hester’s bed, ill at ease. “How are you?”
“Stronger.” She’s propped up again on the pillows.
Good.
He sits next to the bed, in the chair which the aunt has just hastily vacated; still warm from her body. Hester doesn’t say anything more. Nor, when Diddy takes her hand, does her flesh seem very alive. He fears she’s angry with him for Mrs. Nayburn’s departure. “Darling, I’m sorry for what happened now. Sorry, I mean, if it’s upset you. Or if I’ve made your aunt unhappy.”
Hester turns toward Diddy. The thick white bandages cover so much more of her face than the dark glasses did. He’s vaguely alarmed that (now) he can’t read her expression at all.
“But you do understand how I feel, don’t you?” Diddy continues. “I’m so eager for us to be alone.”
“I’m afraid we’ll be too much alone when we live together. You may hate that.”
“Never,” Diddy says ardently. “Try me.”
“I will,” said the girl, “try.”
“That’s all I ask.”
“But you must remember that I warned you.”
“I promise to remember.” Diddy wanted to hold her, but she looked so thin and fragile. He senses something wrong. A different sadness from yesterday. “What’s the matter, darling?”
“Did you come to say goodbye?”
Diddy laughed joyously. “No! No! What are you talking about?”
“Aren’t you going back to New York now? Isn’t the conference over?”
“Sure, the conference is over. The last thing I had to do was this morning. But that doesn’t mean I’m going. You don’t know me, Hester. I’m staying right here. So I can see you every day. In fact, I’ve moved out of my hotel downtown this afternoon and taken a room nearby. I can even see the hospital buildings from my window.”
“How long can you stay on?”
“I’m staying until you leave. Until you leave this room and go down that elevator, and we walk out of here together. Which reminds me. After they kick me out of here this afternoon, I want to go and find your doctor and see how long he wants you to remain
in the hospital. Has anyone given you a date yet?”
“Two or three weeks, Dr. Collins said.”
“Good. Then, after you’re discharged, whenever you feel strong enough to travel, we’ll go back to New York.”
“But how can you stay up here?” Hester exclaims plaintively. It sounded like tears, filling those poor wounded eyes behind the thick bandages. “You’ll lose your job, Dalton.”
“Leave it to me,” said Diddy soothingly. “I’ve thought of a good excuse already. After eleven years, I’m not going to be fired for taking a couple of weeks’ leave of absence.”
“But then, when we get to New York, you’ll go back to your job? Right?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.” Which is the truth. Already, Diddy not sure he ever intends to return to Watkins & Company. The prospect of leaving Hester alone in the apartment each day while he goes to an office seems unthinkable. Her physical safety, for one thing. And Diddy’s sheer possessiveness, and incipient jealousy of the whole world. No, don’t underestimate that.
Not having any private income, he will need to work to support them both. There must be some job he could do at home. But all that can be settled later. No need to rush to a decision. While he and Hester get settled in New York, he may need his old job. Hence, his letter of this afternoon. This decision is the decision to stall.
“You’ve never lived in New York, have you?”
The girl shook her head.
“You might not like it. The air is filthy, strangers are rude, even nasty, there’s a lot of noise. But the city may please you or interest you anyway. And if it doesn’t, we’ll move elsewhere. To another city, or to a small town. Or out of the country altogether.”
“Can you do that? Are you rich?”
“No,” said Diddy. “But I can always manage. When I want to be, I’m a very practical guy.”
Knocking on the door. And the aunt’s voice, asking querulously if she should come in (now). “One more minute, Mrs. Nayburn.”