Mystified. Was she still posing, mother with child? So that in case I was with C, I cd report on pretty picture or observe for myself? Was the picture “You may be going round the world and be Miss Calisher, but I am the real woman, with child, home, husband, etc.?” She cd hardly be concerned about my mosquito-troubles at this point—on the terrace wd have been the time. Or is she simply a woman who can never separate the wood from the trees, details mixing inextricably with important things? Dunno. Final conclusion—if had met her under totally casual circumstances—we would never have struck any sympathies. She would have been slightly jealous, as she is of women, particularly those who are not her inferior in taste, equipment, or achievement, but she wd have tried to cling slightly nevertheless because it is important to her to believe that she belongs with a “preferred” group—whether celebrities, minor and for the moment, like me, or big-shot-on-campus, as R. may once have seemed to her, etc. And I? I am afraid I wd have found her attitudes rather dull and passed on anyway, since her warmth is rather patently one of manner, not, as with Mary S. for instance—both—of manner, and from the inside. And this, which I have written at such length so that C. may read and we may both proceed to more fruitful mullings—is the END OF CONJECTURING.
Later Sat. Morning
Indeed. That’s what I thought. Almost precisely when I had put down this last and decided to go for swim, phone rang—R. calling, had I had breakfast (11 A.M.) and cd I have coffee? Met him in lobby, went to small bakery tea-shop in hotel arcade. (Immediately greeted in passing by Mrs. Unger, wife of Deputy Ambassador, whom I am to dine with on Monday.) R. very nice, said there had been a lot of marrying—wanted me to tell Curt that “his wife” (E.) had just got married to the lawyer in Philadelphia. Said when one’s former spouse married there was always a “feeling”—went on about this in a tentative way—point he was making was that J. was doing a TV program tomorrow—he hadn’t told her my information as “didn’t want to disturb her.” Also didn’t want me to feel strange, being in a foreign country, in this situation.
Said I didn’t feel strange. We had a long talk. I said that I had seized opportunity to tell him since thought it wd be better to have him break to J.—he agreed. He wanted to know where we had married—I lied and said N.Y. Discussed Mex. divorces—said my lawyer had told me cd be disbarred for absentee ones—I had gone for mine—but did not indicate when. Did not feel need to be devious with R.—he is a nice person. But he is not his own person. So I kept to simple story.
R. suggested possibly that when he had told J. we cd all have dinner together on Sun. I declined—he pressed me to say why. I said I thought his wife tended to want to involve people in her personal dramas—I simply didn’t wish to be involved. He said there wdn’t be any drama—this of course contra to fact—otherwise why is he afraid to tell her, afraid she wdnt be able to go on TV if knew etc?
I said—of course, “I don’t mean she’ll throw a plate at me, or I at her”—but we wd either Not talk about or Talk about—and I didn’t wish to, either way. He said he was sure she hadn’t an inkling about C. & me, persisted in wanting me to be “frank” about why I thought she wd still be concerned—so I said I had been rather embarrassed to tell him, that the reason he had not heard from C. was that C. had written earlier asking her not to correspond. He smiled and said his wife was a “great little letter-writer”—I said “yes” but this had been a direct request by C. And two letters since.
He wanted me to be “frank” about letters further—but I simply said she had said her parents were worried sick abt C., rest of letter long one abt herself. But farther I wd not go.
Cd not possibly tell the man that J. had written C. about her dissatisfactions, about “moving on.” Have distinct feeling that J. in my spot, wd not have been so protective of me—viz what she did to R.’s wife—but nevertheless cd not. Poor guy.
I did ask what he thought wd be gained by our sitting down together all cozy-like. He flushed and said that when one felt guilty about having injured a person, one wanted to repair. How mixed up he is, or how mixed she has made him; How cd our being cozy smooth over things, if C. was still hurt? I think she has made a great thing of how hurt C. still is—apparently she thinks he has rushed off to Persia to lick his wounds, and probably keeps this picture well in R.’s mind. Merde!
So I repaired this picture at once. Said he need not feel guilty; that I didn’t think C. had any great resentments toward him now—or brooded abt J. to any great degree. Drew a deep breath and said that C. had said that the only thing he cdn’t forgive her for was playing one man against another as she had. R. nodded. I said we were in love, that we were not jealous of each other’s work but tried to foster it—that this was the delight of my life, as with C. That we had been “attracted” first (I didn’t want him to think we just held hands) but had found out how well we did together—told how we had worked in cottage. Said that in mismatings everything fretted one—but that when one had basic aims the same, these frettings tended to disappear—that C. and I did not mind when left by each other to write—it was a mutual “desertion”—we met in evening and exchanged—worked well when we were with each other. Etc. He said he was glad to hear that C was happy—that he should be with “such a glamorous and charming person” as me. I tried not to simper. Told him more about C.’s novel, what Snow had said of his work, what I thought. Said he was a real writer, that oftentimes the sacrifices a writer wd make for his work seemed hard-minded to outsiders—but that C. and I did not have this to come between us. He asked what C. wd do next—I mentioned California, but said we didn’t know. R. thinks he will go back to teaching. Likes it and magazine world too hectic.
And that was about all—we had talked a bit about divorces, agreeing that Mexican ones wd “hold up” pretty well—he said that his lawyer had told him that in any case they cd not be requestioned or fought by people involved. In other words, C. cd not protest J.’s and vice versa.
Wonder if he had idea, kept warm by J., that C. might protest? I don’t know. This is the mélange one gets into anywhere in her aura. It is obvious that he has to move on eggshells with her. Not me. So I thanked him firmly for coffee, for talk, but made it quite clear that as sensible people wd be best to drop whole matter, live our own lives.
He did persist a bit, saying he hoped I wd get to see more than embassy people, who tended to circumscribe one. (Probably she has already begun to propagandize on stuffy embassy, as she did on “stuffy” Grinnell faculty—the technique of disabusement) I said yes, but Sanfords were perceptive people—a delight in fact, that I was meeting lot of Thais, dining with Prem, Prince Suphat taking me to Temple and to Palace, etc, going up-river tomorrow. He was nice all the way thru—but I think for some God-damn reason, I can’t tell why, thought that things wd be better if I would come to see them, make everything all right, etc. Too nice to press. But I was not going to fall for “let’s all be civilized” lesson from Pamphlet 3 of Liberal American Attitudes. Look at all the time, breath, ribbon, ink I’ve wasted already!
And more. Forgot to say that R. said he thought C. “would have written” to J. about us. I said since C.’s wish was to drop correspondence, there was no point in his taking up pen to so inform. C. assumed she wd eventually hear, as people do. Tried to make it clear to him that we had our own concerns, not violently concerned with “What will Jane think!” As of course, he is.
FINIS—GOING FOR A SWIM, dammit.
Monday, Oct. 20
The dates get near, am now preyed on by usual fear that plane will fall down, on final lap of this endless journey. BOAC has a ground strike, so must change original plan to fly Cathay Pacific to Rangoon and BOAC there. Going to embassy this morning to check.
On Friday night went to Command performance of the play the USIS staff was giving—Teahouse of Aug. Moon with mixed cast. Not at all a bad performance for amateurs—they were afraid that Sukini, the part of Okinawan interpreter, might blow his lines because of the presence of th
e King—but he hammed beautifully.
The Sanfords and I sat in the second “diplomatic” tier, slightly to the right of and behind the Royal Box—two armchairs set in a small enclosure and several feet from each other. I was so placed that I cd see the right eyeglass lens of the King from behind—as if I too were looking thru it. Very thick and cloudy. He has one glass eye—a boyhood accident. (This is of course the King whose brother-King was found shot dead in bed.) He seemed absolutely reactionless thruout—this, I am told, is his usual demeanor. Loves jazz, however. Queen is as lovely as I had been told—movie-star caliber—with one of their incredibly narrow-beautiful torsos. (Mary said almost all of them have this, but invariably bad legs, same as Chinese women. Well, I’ll settle for torso—as long as legs are not fat, don’t seem so bad to me, though are no Dietrich’s to be sure.)
The royal Siamese procedure is that all servants, even other princes, approach on knees—saw his secretary, etc., do this, some of the prince’s old men, knee-shuffling forward. Gave me an extraordinary feeling—my blood ran the other way. We listened to national anthem—everybody facing the box. All Westerners bowed as they passed it; ladies curtsy. In front of us sat Chinese Amb. and wife—he an exceedingly handsome man, a scholar—he and wife both delightful, said M., “in spite of being Republic of China.” Saw Prince Dhani again in his navy blue pakata (like plus-fours)—he the elder statesman who cannot be bought—Prince Chumpot (sp?) the disappointed, (might have been King) stalking around in black, with a big cigar. A Royal Prince cannot be approached nearer than 3 ft. by those of lesser rank. Kind-hearted M. greeted him from this distance, since nobody else wanted to, and Grant Mead, the ranking person near him (this in intermission) can’t bear him and avoided him. Lovely, lovely intrigues of all kinds in this country. A toy kingdom I thought—the S.’s said I was just.
After left R., on Sat., had free day without appointments—wandered in Monogram shop here—saw a tiny reclining Buddha that I will regret not buying. People buy heavy gold bracelets and necklaces here as investment and saving—the servant class as well—no Thai wore costume jewelry until we came.
Sunday at 6:30 we were off to Royal dock to meet Gen. Partridge and his boat. Since we cdn’t decide which dock, had wonderful dawn-tour of markets, docks—all inadvertently. The city was still gray—against it the monks—most of them still boys, were beginning their morning pilgrimage for food—in their orange robes against the gray, carrying their bowls. They eat at 8 and 11, not after that. At some of the big houses, servants stood waiting to feed them. My heart ached—since they seem about Pete’s age—but apparently they all get fed—a Buddhist “makes merit” by feeding them. Pariah dogs everywhere, even in portico of hotel. Cannot kill animals here—tho am told Siamese police secretly trying to round them up. Profusion of fruits and veg. in markets, constant impression of gaiety and sweetness of people. Far cry from the Japs. No doubt “Mai ben rai”—the Buddhists “makes no difference” phrase, can be trying for Westerners to live with. (Alex MacDonald’s book, on his paper, The Bangkok Post, very helpful on all this. 1949.)
Finally met up with General (Richard Partridge) bluff, pink-faced man, very nice, hearty and intelligent, about to retire. Embarrassed, since this boat had never disappointed before—and he is undoubtedly an efficient gent—but this boat disappointed nevertheless. Went home to his villa—wife in States—had enormous hooker of whiskey—a fine but dangerous way to begin morning—the others had gimlets, but gin in morning is not for me—and huge breakfast rustled up by his “boy.” Again Maugham flavor—the military villa, set in a compound of others, all crisp and beautifully shrubbed and tended. Will try for boat again Tuesday.
Then Sanfords took me to the Temple of the Emerald Buddha, Wat Praker—like Wat Po but much more so. Took off our shoes and sat in the shrine among the faithful—Sunday families all around. Shrine has governmental presents in front of it—many 19th century—a huge ugly clock from Queen Victoria—marble group, from Italy no doubt, in between the innumberable Oriental guardian figures of every height. Chinese tiles line the steps and bottom of side-walls. In palace, the wall paintings of the Ramayana, strung out “comic-strip” fashion, legend of the monkey-people, etc., scene after scene, constantly retouched since they fade in this climate. Outside, the wonderful profusion—incredible gold pagodas rising, Ceramic pagodas—“boudoir pagodas” I called them, made of ceramic flowers, like French ribbon or like the insides of glass paperweights. Enormous. multicolored god-figures, gilt guardian figures—the garuda—a sort of monkey-faced dragon with serpent tail, the canellas (kinellas?) gilt figures half animal-half not—some with tails like cocks, dragon feet, some with great curved dragon-tails—I loved these—on the sidewalls, reliefs of women dancers, hands in the Siamese dancing positions—a few with faces like Sienese paintings. Wd like to have a book on this palace—colored. Nothing like it anywhere. Scale model of Angkor Wat—everybody horrified I am in part of world where is and not seeing—and this I regret but no time. Two-day trip. Say it is vast and unbelievable. I love these temples, in fact, all the gay S. rooflines—if one could put Chartres next to Wat Praker one would not have to say any more about East vs. West. Great coiled serpents, studded with colored glass, sinuate up either side of most of the steps to the pagodas. Many shrines, because one “makes merit” building same. Even the hotel here has one with a large gold Buddha, surrounded with cheap vases, joss, flowers, etc.—in back of the traffic policeman’s post, and with a few pariah dogs handy.
Then went to Sports Club with Mary, long afternoon of swimming and relaxation. More Maugham. This is the Club where the love affairs start—saw the “Rita and Einar” to whom MacDonald dedicated his book—story runs she had been violently in love with MacDonald but he md a rich girl and is now in States. Pakistani Ambassador came over and asked to be introduced—great Don Juan, and very handsome indeed, but if only wdn’t talk—keeps up constant flow of hammy badinage—as if he had learned the “French” style of flirtation—to which one must reply in kind. Asked where I was staying and for how long? Mary said he will undoubtedly call—am busy thank goodness. M. says flirtatious, but means business—this she had to learn. Lots of other people—Jim Thompson, who wanted to sit with us but had to sit with the Harveys—typical country-club set—MG and a brilliant sportshirt of Siamese silk—which will out-brilliant any on earth—ass of a man to look at him, and name-dropping wife. M. said she wd be dropping mine tomorrow. I get fonder of M. who has such a nice sharp wit, and is such a warm, thoughtful person. We get along so well. Asked Cecil once in car how he managed to wear all his “hats”—he has several distinct jobs and functions—SEATO, USIS, Embassy—M. laughed and said “One for each head.”
Had curry for lunch, served by “boy” to reclining sahib-ladies in swim suits, then pigged it at hotel with tea and a pastry at the tea-shop—so elegant with satin sofas, embroidered linen—America cd use an occasional one of these. Then out to the Prems for dinner at 8. Dull affair, too many people, buffet-style supper, took the Siamese food (they had Western also) but not as good as at Jim’s, though loved a kind of leaf they fry stiff—they use all sorts of plants and flowers—even fry lotus and frangipani. Prem nice really, she too. House large, with ugliness typical of Westernized anything, in Orient.
From now on it will be a whirl—rather a senseless one. Today, shopping, lunch at Rachel McCarthy’s, who wants me to see her Thai-style house in afternoon, cocktails at Braces (Br. Council). Tomorrow we try boat again, then dressmakers, then Fulbright affair which, Cecil informed me, has burgeoned into three—we have to go from there to the Br. Amb, then to a USIS dinner at Casanova’s, wherever that is.
Wed., Nilawan is gathering some author-ladies (the women are the better writers here, I’m told). Tonight we go to the Ungers (Deputy Ambassador) for dinner. Seni Premo (phonetic sp.) will be there—former Foreign Min., etc. Met his wife at a luncheon—her name “Usna”—either a Princess or a Momrajahwong, or a Luang—think the latter, title recently aw
arded.
Time for me to get out of here. I shall no doubt regret the lovely bathroom—(in the Tabriz one described by C), and maybe the swimming pool—and certainly the Sanfords. But I long for a quiet life with C. Hope have seen the end of the R. business—he may not tell her until I’m away. Or not at all? This unlikely, since to tell wd be to his advantage with her. Still think he’s nice, but terribly fuzz-minded in some way. In this way they probably are suited. If he does tell her, shd not be surprised to hear from her. Luckily, am dated up, God knows.
Monday Night—11 p.m.
Am to get up at 6:30 to have a try at the General’s boat again, but must write down tale of a fairly exciting diplomatic evening, for Bangkok. This morning went to J. Thompsons and bought cerise material for suit, then took Mary to lunch at Mizu’s. Long talk with Victor Jansen, married to Puckpring, divorced wife of prince. V. born in Tashkent, speaks 8 languages, including Walloon. Seen better days, now on the drink, works for KLM. One of those charming, sad, unhelpable souls, very intelligent. Thence to siesta. Thence to cocktail reception at the Braces (Br. Council) for a new recruit to the council, appropriately named Mr. Tongue. Just in from Ghana. Inquired about Polly Humphrey, but no news. Large reception—at first lighted by spotlights, since electric power was weak, as it has been all past few days—then lights went up—there were the R.’s—he opposite, so I nodded, she behind. She saw me, but I managed not to catch eye—was embarrassed—shall have to do so if we meet again.
We left early to go to lingers—Senator Fulbright there, as well as Amer. French and Chinese Ambassadors and wives, etc. Our table—Ambassador at one end (Amer.), me at other, flanked by M. Breale the French Amb., Conte Pontecorvo the Italian Amb., Mme Han-Lih Wu, the Chinese Amb. at Breale’s left. Lively conversation mostly upheld by Breale—from opium-smoking to cinema. At Braces, had heard that Quemoy bombing resumed 8 hrs. before.
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