Herself

by Hortense Calisher

  Had lunch with Gordon Mahy and wife—minister and in Eng. Dept. Old China hands. Discussed Sat Eve Post writers of my childhood—T. Beer, the Glencannon stories. Pleasant, but same air of Protestantism in tropics. Grace before meals—amid orchids—some presented to me by Tiempos—and all the exuberant wild graces of the people and foliage. Left that afternoon with an enormous spray of white orchids E. had made for me, dripping halfway to waist.

  So back to Manila Tues night. V. came with the beautiful Maria Clara blouse, but was as usual late. Bill came over to hotel, and we had a nice talk waiting. Had a beautiful penthouse room this time, double—B. took off his shoes and reclined on one bed—don’t know what little V. thought—but she has been in Kansas. Tried to take them both to dinner, but he insisted on taking us—an Indonesian place—rather good.

  Left next morning—Fred Morales and B. at plane. Also V., who gave me a beautiful jusi handkerchief—with a card—“for you to get homesick about”—this a laughing reference to her occasional homesickness for U.S.A. Sad to leave. Who shd come up as I am clutching gate-pass, coat, mss., and typewriter bag which I wd release to no porter—but a vaguely recognizable young man—Morales said, “You remember him?”

  I looked. My God, it was the reporter who had tried to get my views of love-and-life when I deplaned on arrival. He ran alongside us, real correspondent fashion and thoroughly conscious of same—I said “oh it’s you again!” Everybody gay. Told him how I loved Manila, etc.—he seemed abt to board with me, Fred Morales laughingly tailing us. Said to reporter “Young man you will go far. But not on this plane with me!” Said to F., B., and V., “I kiss you all,” and was swept off. Last sight of B. and F. waving. Sad.

  HONG KONG THAT AFTERNOON. View of the utterly superb harbor—something like San F.’s. Was met by an embassy asst (Thompson), taken to tea at—my God the name of hotel escapes me already—oh, Peninsula, on the Kowloon side. Wandered across ferry to H’kong side, too tired to take funicular to top—decided that since I came from city which undoubtedly had the Indian sign on aerial views of a lighted city, cd skip. Thought of how nice it wd be to have C. along now. Wandered H’kong business dist.—everybody returning home 6 P.M., bought an Olivetti typewriter ribbon (3 H dollars, their dollar five-to-one of ours). Should have bought more. Had a hot bath at last—god bless the British—snaked thru some shops and resolved—oh the clothes, the fabrics—to buy nothing except C.’s present, which promptly did. Left at 11 A.M.—sat briefly in airport bus—with priest (F.) on his way to Rome to study Canon Law. First time he had ever traveled alone. Very impressed I knew Father Bernad.

  Arrived in Bangkok unmet. Mary Sanford, the cultural attaché’s wife and a Miss Z. came to meet, were stopped by official who declined to let them past gate, because they were of insufficient rank. Siamese most rank-conscious people in world. Liked both Sanfords immediately. Had dinner with them. He, as she said—he did not mention—is disappointed writer. Back in Foreign Service after 2 yrs they spent in Va. on savings and her earnings, while he tried to write—just starting when they ran out of money. She’s a pip—they have a fine marriage. As always, that is pleasant to be with. She writes too, knows all my work and has followed. (Not reason she is a pip, though!) We got on fine.

  Next day—Friday

  Embassy reception to me, covered in letter to C.

  Erawan Hotel,

  Bangkok, Thailand

  Friday, Oct 10, ’58

  Dearest C:

  Arrived here yesterday afternoon from Hongkong …

  Last night had dinner with USIS Cultural Officer Cecil Sanford and wife. Both from Baltimore, both nice—as USIS people uniformly are. He explained they are all mostly Democrats exiled by present Administration—no wonder I find them all so sympathetic …

  And now, no more stalling—I’ve been thinking it over—do we or do we not inform your former wife, and if so what? As you say, we have a simple story and the obvious thing to do is to state it. … I can’t envision going through all the alternative stories, comparing of notes as to what to say, and other nonsensicalities J. put you through when you and she and R. were in transit toward divorces. … In other words, I can’t participate in her neurosis about “what people will think.” … One can’t enter her world of general deception … Casualness is the best: will give no pretext for drama—anything else will…

  So as we agreed, I’ll just have to play it by ear. I shan’t go out of my way to say anything unless pressed, but I can’t say one thing in one part of the diplomatic world, and something else in another …

  Yesterday I was handed a large engraved invitation inviting me to meet myself at the Sanford’s reception for me at the USIS center; it has also been announced in the paper; I should think it odd if the R’s were not there. A reception line of at least ½ hour duration, Cecil says, then we break into smaller groups. Remember that J. cannot be any more anxious to have her “past” recapitulated. I should think if we talk she’ll want news of you … may wish yr. exact address … from then on is where I shall have to take it as it comes … if I’m placed so that I have to tell her, I shall hope to do so where it will be the least shock—maybe better done publicly than privately. I think so, rather. Perhaps if revelation cannot be avoided, it will come best in R’s presence—wisest of all, perhaps. Occurs to me I may find myself quite naturally making it to him. Oh well, maybe they aren’t even there … I really go on talking about it only because I’m talking to you, and don’t want to stop, whatever the subject. I miss you … And my spirits lift at the thought, exclusive of bed, of being in your company, working in your company—all the rest …

  … Well, it’s over, and nothing much happened—no revelations as yet, though we met, and I have a rather clearer picture, which I will now give. Stage set, I must say in my favor—a very handsome and well ordered (by Mrs. Sanford) diplomatic reception. I wore the white wool after all, green-gold Italian earrings. My mirror had been reporting horrid things to me lately—fatigue-drawn, diarrhoea face—and it was nice to know I’d exaggerated—a day in bed here yesterday and all was well. Every woman has days when she knows herself to be at her best—nice to have this one of them … Last night was Double Ten night for Chinese (10th day of 10th month), and most people going on to other parties. The reception line, Sanford and me and a Serene Highness (male) was well in order, trays of gimlets passing, all the American staff there, when the R’s finally walked in, something after 7. I recognized them at once before they reached us … Gals here go in for the beautiful Thai silks which are heavy, ornate, and take height and figure to wear, as well as un-American looks. J. had got herself up in gold lamé … R. thinner than his pic … I felt rather like my own hero Pierre Goodman (who knew so much about other people’s lives, without their knowing). Gazing at the gold lamé, I remembered the gold lampshades—hers, and her remark you quoted, “If there’s one thing I’m sure of it’s my taste.” Well, that’s enough—it was over in a minute. She was very cordial and plunged in at once: “I know of you through my former husband, Curtis Harnack, who was your colleague at Iowa last year.” Since she looked to me exactly like one of the faculty wives she so looks down upon, that put the final touch to the picture. I smiled, and said, “Yes.” And that is all I said.

  R. quickly intervened: “I am wondering—how does one get to go on a trip like yours?” I explained—you’ve heard the story, of how, meeting Dick Blackmur at a party, he told me to write to a Howland E. Haroldson at the IEES, then the IEES’ letter to me, just during McCarthy-time, saying ominously, “Yes, we know who you are and what you are doing”—etc. R. said, “Ah, I see. One goes to a party.” … I think he was trying to get past J’s mentioning you; no doubt it bothers him. The line pressed behind them and they moved on, she saying she hoped they would see me again. I felt that normally it wd be unusual for a woman to refer to past husband in order to make time with honored guest. She must want to talk to me of you … and is still using you against R.—the old ploy. Doubt
if ever in the world I would prefer him to you, but am sincerely grateful to her for being giddy enough to do so …

  This will probably be my last to you from here … tomorrow speak at PEN group—Prince (and Princess) Burachatra Prem. Met them yesterday. I asked the British Council gent, very nice, to “heckle” me, British-style. Will be a difficult talk otherwise, since I’m told they know so little—and I can’t and won’t condescend—but will manage. No doubt the R’s will be there. Don’t worry. Think about us. As I shall.

  My love.

  H

  Saturday, Oct. 11th

  Brooded too much on my responsibility to C., to do as he wants about not telling J. we are to be together. Was there a bitchiness in me that wanted her to know, regardless? Was it not better to clear air as matter-of-factly as possible, and have done? Etc. Wrote too much about it to G. Repeated to myself what his earlier letter said to me. “You see, I need you dear.” Yes, for perspective, I need him too. Ultimate decision—I cd not skulk. Think he will agree. We have told the one lie—which doesn’t seem too terrible a one—since to all intents he and I are more married in spirit and flesh than those who are legally. But further, I can’t seem to go.

  Sunday, Oct. 12th

  Sat aft Mary had taken me to see the temples and the statue of the reclining Buddha. Wonderful gay, ceramic temples, with snakepoints at roofline, orange-clad monks all about. Many Chinese figures, large and small, at temple doors and in gardens, brought over as ballast in ships. Palace is 18th century. Loved it all—a gay architecture, unchristian, with the pervading Buddhist sense of the “avoidance” of suffering, which so explains the “East.” This is in part what is “mysterious” to us. In morning M. had also taken me to Jim Thompson’s famous shop. Bought white silk, and went to M.’s dressmaker to have made. Jim invited me for dinner, for Sun. night, and is taking me to see weavers on Wed.

  Sunday aft—had the P.E.N. club, which was a riot. Their first meeting. Hours of Siamese speeches, then Nilawan Pintong, the guiding spirit, introduced Cecil to intro me—me with orchid on shoulder etc. I talked a bit—Ninon then interpreted me at length—but only about two questions were asked, then suddenly things got wildly off track, Vietnam had been mentioned. Person after person came up, grabbed one of mikes and spoke. Books, literature, P.E.N. and me left far behind. Prince Prem asked one question—was Amer. interested in S.E. Asia books (he has been courted by Russians—we haven’t courted him) and another pro-Communist asked abt book clubs with intent to point up commercialization of U.S.A. All Amer. and English hilarious about what happened—“a typical Thai business,” said they. Went downstairs—we were in Auditorium of Priests Hosp—for tea—Princess Poon, a tiny gem of abt 70, who bad taught in San F., came up and sat next, also the Stiers, Cultural Asst.—another nice type—and wife. Mnwhile I had glimpsed the R.’s in the audience, and they had followed our group downstairs, along with the Enrights (Denis—Donald Keene’s friend, who had spoken to me at reception and promised to see me again). J. had on purple dress so cd follow with tail of my eye—obvious she intended to get to me no matter what. Much business of being stalked—she of course cd not know I was watching maneuverings—I left one group, attached myself to fringe of another—she determinedly following, all innocent-eyed. They hung around to very end; at one pt she attached herself to Princess Poon behind me—I ignored—after all I had met scores of people day before and cd be excused for not remembering. To no avail. Nobody left but Sanfords, Stierses, and Nilawan and me—we were invited to Stiers’s for cocktails—but still the purple dress was on my tail.

  Mary Sanford paid them no attention, although she is a very polite Virginian. Said later there was something about J. she didn’t like although she hadn’t the slightest idea what it was, and hadn’t pursued the acquaintance. So maybe my reaction isn’t as biased as I had feared. Gathered this might be general fern, reaction to J., and possibly accounts for their social position here, or lack of really “in” one—women are very important in social life here, handle invites, etc., etc. In J.—I think it is the “little me” attitude, which contradicts an air of calculation, or “plotting,” which comes out in eyes nevertheless. Manner is sweet and poised—but something, whatever it is, is false. I think she is jealous of most women.

  Anyway, calculation prevailed. R. came up to me and suggested I talk to some of his Thomasat students in Journalism—his school is in session. She right at his elbow—suggested it wd be better at their house, and invited me for dinner. I pleaded prior booking, referred her to Cecil—she said insistently that session mght go on for hrs, students might never leave, we had better plan on dinner. Cecil said O.K.—later I told Mary I might like to get out of dinner there and she said she cd manage it. So—the tete-a-tete I had hoped to avoid is all set I suppose. R. is to call for me in car.

  Later had cocktails at Stierses—such nice people again—frank, open, educated—and dinner at J. Thompson’s wonderful Eastern house. Indescribable, will describe to C. President of Thaibok there—a British woman, very attractive, obviously formerly in dip. service thru husband—old China hand—30 yrs in East. Talked of Lewis. Invited me to look her up when I return to U.S. Wonderful Siamese food, silent serving-men at elbow international talk. Longed for C. to see this hse. Home very late.

  Today get interviewed by Eliz. Ortiz of Bangkok World, paper owned by Darrell Berrigan who has written for Reporter, etc.—met him at lecture. Miss Ortiz does women’s page—I suppose I shall be asked about family, husbands, etc. Irritable impulse to tell all in paper, and have done. Tomorrow to be interviewed—on TV-I think—by Prince Prem. Wednesday dinner with the Piersons, Asia F. head. Sunday, dinner with the Prems. Etc. This will be a social time, but still exhausting. More dates coming up. All this will be romantic to remember—wish it were over—fretted by—Left at this point. Embassy car downstairs to take me to get routine work over—finances, ticket to Tehran, etc. Asked to go on 24th—gives them 2 weeks here.

  Was going to say—fretted by a lot of things, still slight waves of dysentery—feeling is like that of top of head slightly above rest of it—modest recurrence of period—Mary S. says everybody has trouble with that out here, climate does it—general feeling of impatience with myself for being so ungrateful about this “experience”—with suitcases and doors for having to be locked and unlocked, with J. for being such a nuisance, and again myself for being bothered. Curt will understand all. Bless him.

  Thursday—Oct. 16, ’58

  Have been lazy, tropic-affected in various ways, but real reason haven’t written is because soon shd be able to talk to C.—and some of what I have seen wd take long verbal effort to describe—this is a country suited more to color-movies than to words. Or, if words, Somerset Maugham country even yet Mary and I have had much fun about that—she’s a dear, and a woman I wd be happy to have for my friend. Yesterday, at the Sports Club, reclining like two Mrs. Pukka Sahibs, she said, “Hortense, those flowers on the other side of the swimming pool—they’re frangipani.” I said “Oh”—”Oh Mary—honest”—I was really awed—being here, seeing what one had read of since childhood—it was all in my tone, she understood perfectly, and we burst into gales of laughter. But I’m ahead of myself.

  Monday, as far as I can remember, did nothing but laze in room, have a dinner in dining room. Tuesday Mary took me to Johny Siam’s, the famous jeweler—he’s a Chinese Catholic. I bought a set of the wonderful brass and horn cutlery-ware; each piece only costs abt 50¢. C. and I shall need anyway. For largesse, bought a betel-nut container for an evening bag, and one for Bennet. Resisted—quite easily, Johny’s “Why you no want star sapphire—very cheap.” They are, too, as are star rubies, etc., but unless I were going to deal in precious stones, or sell in States, or had lots of dough, the Siamese jewelry doesn’t interest me much—even earrings. And I can’t see carrying an unset ruby around Persia. (N.B.—the cutlery must not be washed in hot water.)

  In afternoon was interviewed on radio—round table headed
by Prince Prem, a young Britisher, Peter Bee, who is P.’s asst at Chulalongkorn (amid his multifarious activities—and Prem is always telling you how mult, 54 committees, P. is head of For. Languages and Eng. at Chula) and Irene Something—British woman who is in business here—Carrier Air Conditioning—has a typical TV personality—asks seemingly idiotic questions to warm up. Also a Siamese, name unknown, lecturer in Sanskrit at U., has idiomatic command of Eng—and whenever an idiom came up, interpolated in tape for Audience—Sample, “unsolicited mail”—what he did with that I’ll never know—Cecil had briefed me a bit—thinking Prem might get Anti-American on air, but thanks to dizzy Br. dame, and Peter B.’s real interest in writing—etc, we stayed mostly on me and writing per se—although Peter and his lady compatriot said right out loud how little Siamese lit. there was, and how poor—saving me from asking.

  This is a unique country—pleasure-loving, fascinating in many ways I shd love to explore—what one must not do is to bring preconceived notions to it—searching for what one will not find, and ignoring what is. Cecil has given me the book of beautiful prints of life of the Buddha, which I shall treasure. (USIS publication—“most important gesture we have made.” Unique for U.S.).

  Afterwards, Prince P. took Peter and me to tea—in the car I managed at the same time to ask him innocently about his trip to Russia, and to get him to agree that “we writers” (flattery) simply dried up when we were not allowed to speak freely. His trip to Russia may have flattered him (Cecil says they rolled out the carpet—even printed his book in R. and gave it to him—possibly a limited edition of three, but still.) But after all Prem is a product of Br. schools, I think Eton as well as Oxford—and he knew damn well what I meant. Also the British-reared love frankness, and I was. Told him about Dr. Zhivago, and Pasternak’s troubles in getting it printed, gov’t trying to get it back, etc.—and mentioned it was best-seller in U.S. Cecil highly gleeful when I reported. Had informal cocktails and dinner with them, folded at 9:30 and went home—Jim Thompson to take Mary and me to the weaving compound where his silks are made.