“But you must. You’ll have a breakdown if you don’t.”
He said nothing in reply and poured himself a stiff drink of whisky to steady his shaking hands. After dinner when Ruth returned to the question of a vacation he was more calm and began to discuss the possibility of a sea trip.
“Would you like to come along?” he asked.
“Perhaps it would be wiser if you took your rest by yourself. Get away from everything.”
“No—come along, Ruth. I’d feel better if you were with me. I feel as though I can’t bear to be alone.”
Her eyes became wet; he looked so tired and worn and the expression of his necessity for her touched her.
“And Bruce? I could arrange to have him sent to a boarding kindergarten—he’s old enough.”
“No. We’ll have Marie look after him on board. It’ll do him good too. It isn’t you and the lad I want to get away from—it’s the terrible mess at the office.” He closed his eyes wearily and rested his head in his hands. When he looked up Ruth asked:
“And where shall we go, dear?”
“The Riviera, perhaps. What do you say? We’ll rent a villa with spacious, grassy terraces and we’ll take sun-baths every day. God, it seems years since I’ve felt the warmth of the sun on my body.” His eyes took on new life and brilliance as he spoke.
“Later, perhaps, we could go to Rome,” Ruth suggested.
“Yes, and on our way back home you could stop off in England. It’ll be a good opportunity for you to see Guy.”
Ruth’s face clouded suddenly as he spoke. She recovered herself quickly and asked:
“And where would you stop while I was in England?”
“Stop?” There was a sharply curved note of surprise in his voice. “What do you mean? We’d be with you, of course. Bruce and I. It would be a splendid opportunity to tell your mother.”
“Walter—what are you saying? You know it’s utterly impossible. Must we have this discussion all over again?”
“Look here, Ruth—now for God’s sake take that terrified expression off your face and listen to reason.”
“I’m not terrified—.”
“All right, then!” He was annoyed and excited, his hands began to shake again but the conversation was now too far gone to be halted. “Now listen to me carefully. I’m tired of this pretense. It’s a long time since I last mentioned it but I feel degraded every time you get a letter from England. What do you write to your mother? What lies do you tell her about how you live and spend your days? You must have built up an enormous fiction. How can you strangle the mention of Bruce and myself? I should think it would drive you mad.”
“It does—but there isn’t anything I can do about it. I told you that day in Montreal that it would be wrong to bring another life into this mess, but you insisted. Now you must let me have my way.”
For a moment Walter did not reply and Ruth lighted a cigarette waiting for the inevitable storm to break.
—How can I go to her and say this is the man with whom I have lived for five years—and this is our son. God, I can see her face. She would freeze, perhaps call me a whore, no, harlot is the word she would use. She’d think of darling Bruce as a bastard. I can’t do it. That is my dead past, I must leave it undisturbed.
When Walter spoke again he did so with careful deliberation. “Listen, Ruth,” he said quietly, “you simply must make a decision. We can’t go on like this, living in concealment from your mother and Guy. Heavens, we’ve been living together for five years, even the State of New York recognizes the validity of such an arrangement.”
“Not while Edgar is alive.”
“Then divorce him.”
“Impossible. I won’t do it.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to hurt Mother—and Guy.”
“How Guy?”
“He’s been brought up as a Catholic.”
“But don’t you realize, Ruth, that some day, sooner or later, they’ll be bound to find out?”
“How? Why must they find out?”
“I mean—supposing you were to die—?’’
“I’m not dying—.”
“Or suppose we were to separate. You might want to go back to them.”
“Are you thinking of that?”
“No—but you must do something about this. I can’t go on being part of an enormous fraud.”
“I’m the one who’s being dishonest. I’ll take the responsibility. You must allow me to do as I think best. This is my problem.”
“No, the boy and I are involved. We’re very much part of the present.”
“I can’t do anything about it.”
Her inability to carry the discussion beyond a blind refusal infuriated Walter. He rose to his feet. “You can do something about it,” he shouted. “You can and you will—or I’ll leave you. Do you hear?”
He stood over her and glared.
“You may leave me, Walter—but I can’t do it.” But her voice lacked conviction as she spoke. They sat in angry silence for some time and then, long afterwards, Walter said:
“I can’t understand your attitude on the question of a divorce. After all, many Catholics get divorces when their marriages become intolerable. Your marriage to Edgar is a dead thing, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” (Dully.)
“The whole world, with the exception of the Church, will grant that ours is a decent union. It’s solid, we’ve acknowledged it before the world—except your mother—and we have a son. Now it is right that we should legalize it. You must admit that even your mother would prefer a divorced daughter to one living in sin, as she would call it. It is time we made a final decision. Bruce is growing up. You are getting older—.”
She winced at this.
“—anyhow, a divorce would clear up the whole mess. No matter what your mother thinks of it, she’ll be compelled to see the honesty of our relationship.”
He walked over to her chair, put his hands on her shoulders, then bending over he kissed her and coaxed:
“Do as I say, dear. You’ll see that everything will come out all right. Be a sensible, logical girl.”
“But I’m not logical,” she said smiling, “and I’m afraid I never have been.”
“You will, then?”
“And what would be my first move?”
“Write to Sir Robert. Ask him to speak to Edgar. If he consents perhaps it can be done quietly. I wouldn’t want any publicity, if it can be helped. Will you write?”
She hesitated for a moment. “If I can’t get a divorce before we sail then we shan’t call on Mother in England, yes? We’ll wait until I am divorced and then tell her—perhaps next year?
“All right. I’m agreeable.”
“And one more thing.”
“What is it?”
“After I am divorced and you meet my mother—you are to say that Bruce is your son—that I am not his mother.”
Walter felt the blood rising to his head. With a great effort he conquered his anger.
—She is still under the influence of the Church. After all these years of liberal thought she is still emotionally in the convent. She would deny it, of course, but the whole idea of religious sin is still very real for her. There is nothing I can do …
And without pleasure and with a chilled quality in his voice he agreed.
—There is no use quarreling. She is what she is and nothing I can say will alter her, poor girl. I thought when I first met her that I could win her over to my point of view but the convent had her first. Intellectually she has accepted a modern viewpoint but emotionally she still genuflects in the chapel in Montreal. She can’t make the break …
A week later Sir Robert wrote to Ruth: “In the past I did not wish to cause you any needless unpleasantness by referring to Mr. Kennedy. But now, in view of the fact that you are contemplating making application for a di
vorce, I think that you should know that for the past year your husband has been an inmate of the asylum at Verdun. No matter how regretful your relationship was with him, I know you will be pained at this news … please accept my sympathy. His terrible experiences during the war have now resulted in a complete mental breakdown. Under the circumstances we can look for no assistance in his direction. In any case I would have advised that you secure your divorce either at Reno or in Mexico rather than in Canada where, as you may know, divorces are granted by Act of Parliament and only in rare cases. The fact that your husband is insane as a result of his war experiences would not help matters with the members of parliament … ”
When Ruth showed Walter the letter he was pleased that she had made the first move. After some discussion it was finally decided that they would go abroad and on their return his lawyer would take the necessary steps to make an application for divorce in Reno. A residence would have to be established and that would take several months. In the meantime they were eager to get away and with matters in satisfactory abeyance they sailed a few days later.
≠
Two months later when they returned to New York, Walter was immediately drawn into his work at the office. A plan of reorganization was under way and only once during the weeks that followed did he mention the question of Ruth’s divorce. The press of work and the fact that action would be started as soon as they were ready made him less insistent.
“It can wait for a few months,” he said to Ruth one night. “As soon as I can see Reynolds and talk matters over with him, I’ll arrange for a meeting between you. It must be handled in such a way so as not to get into the papers. He can fix that.”
And as the months passed and nothing happened Ruth stopped thinking about the matter altogether.
But the good effects of Walter’s trip abroad soon began to wear off; he was again harassed by financial worries, he began to lose weight, his nervousness returned. The plan of reorganization effected little good and business continued to be progressively bad. The day at the office was long and in the evening he was worn out and haggard. And the quiet of his home no longer appealed to him. Music, books and ideas now irritated him—he wanted more biting pleasures. Gradually he began to spend less and less time with Ruth. He came home late after a night of drinking and dissipation and left for the office early in the morning.
LXXIII
It was late, quite dark outside and quiet. The office sounded deserted, apparently the staff had gone home hours before and he had not noticed it. It was nearly eight o’clock. Walter had been sitting at his desk looking through papers until now his head ached dreadfully, a dull throbbing pain that furrowed his forehead. He passed his hand wearily across his eyes and opened the lower drawer of his desk, drew out a bottle of whisky and poured himself a generous drink. It burned the back of his throat pleasantly as it went down. He poured himself another.
Then rising, he walked to the window which faced the river. He stood for some time lost in thought, staring aimlessly at the deserted streets several hundred feet below.
—It is late but I do not want to go home.
The two drinks were without effect and he poured himself another and soon felt a glowing sensation at the pit of his stomach, the pressure at the base of his skull eased somewhat and the blood seemed to course through his veins more freely. Back at the window he continued to look at the lighted skyscrapers, the red and green lights of the tug-boats on the river, the illuminated outlines of the Brooklyn Bridge.
—This is the thing which man built in his image. It is a beautiful, pulsing creature of his genius. And yet men are dying by their own hands because they cannot live in it. It is a marvelous structure, this city, surpassing all that man has created before; and because men are woodenly stupid and avaricious the thing will yet destroy them.
He switched the lights out and drawing a chair close to the window, sat staring at the lower end of the city. In all directions there were massed and serried lights, miles of them, up and down. He heard the rumble of heavy trucks through the city’s arteries and sitting there in the dark he marveled at the intricacy of its nervous system; an interwoven web of telephone and telegraph wire buried under its streets, its dynamos, its heating plants, traffic signals, towering skyscrapers, bridges, its six million frightened, inadequate people, factories, offices. And now something had happened to all this, and men were bewildered because the Golem had hewn too much wood, drawn too much water, laden the storehouses with too much food, created too much beauty until men scattered in terror before the giant and none knew how to bring him low. Somewhere in the distance there arose the roar of an elevated train speeding north and from the direction of the market there came the heavy rumble of food trucks. From the north there came the mingled sounds of clangor, rumble and muffled thunder which is the composite clamor of New York at night and out in the harbor he heard the sad hooting of ocean craft and the piping warnings of smaller river vessels.
He rose and moved away from the window, switching on the light.
—What the hell am I thinking about? Whining like a mooning adolescent. Have another drink.
He poured himself a fourth drink and then a fifth. Soon the room swayed slightly, pleasantly. His lips hung loosely and he grinned to himself. He picked up the receiver of his telephone and dialed a number. A woman’s voice answered.
“I’ll be up to see you in a few minutes,” he said, speaking into the instrument. His voice was blurred and he smiled drunkenly to himself. “Say, you’d better anoint yourself with oil b’cause my cup runneth over, light incense and perfume your fair body with myrrh and frankincense, kid, because your lord cometh—perhaps more than once.”
The voice at the other end of the line giggled. “Oh, Mr. Sprague, you are so funny.”
Walter sat with his face close to the mouthpiece staring at it, his mouth twisted into a snarl. “I don’t feel funny.”
“I’ll wait for you. Are you hungry?”
“No. But I’m drunk—do you hear—I’m drunk, but I’m not unconscious yet, I can still see the world, God damn it!”
He took another drink before leaving the office. Outside he walked toward Trinity Church where he hailed a taxi. He gave an uptown address east of Fifth Avenue and settled back in the hard leather seat as the car sped northward.
LXXIV
For the first time since they had been living together Walter did not come home that night. As usual Marie set the dinner table for three and after waiting until the roast was cold Ruth and Bruce dined by themselves. All through the meal she was silent and tormented by fear. At nine o’clock, when she could endure the suspense no longer, she called the office, but there was no answer.
—Perhaps he was called away from town suddenly.
She rejected this idea; he had always telephoned before leaving the city. She paced up and down the living-room, looking out of the window at the street below, eagerly staring into the darkness each time a car pulled up before the entrance to the apartment house.
—Maybe something has happened to him. He has been drink-
ing too much lately and he may have met with an accident.
This, too, seemed implausible upon closer examination. If he were hurt she would have been notified by this time, he always carried papers of identification: his driver’s license, his card case …
—This is the first time.
At midnight, when he had not returned, Ruth began to prepare to retire. She dawdled and spent nearly an hour in the bath, hoping that he would come in the meantime. It was past one when she was in bed, but sleep was impossible. She tossed and turned, smoking cigarette after cigarette until she was wide awake.
In desperation she rose and sat by her table, reading, but the printed words refused to make sense and she gave it up. She went downstairs to the dining-room and found a decanter of whisky, poured herself a drink and quickly returned to her room.
—It will never
do for him to come in and find me waiting for him. Get hold of yourself, for God’s sake. You mustn’t allow yourself to go to pieces. It is nothing. Possibly he met some friends and they are drinking somewhere.
For a while this train of thought proved satisfactory but always she returned to the basis of her doubt.
—Then why hasn’t he called? Surely he must know that I am waiting up for him.
When the first steely streak of dawn appeared in the east and its cold light penetrated her room, she was convinced that the thing which she had feared most had come to pass. She remembered the nights after the war when Edgar came home, the cold expression of hatred on his face as she confronted him, the odor of whisky and women …
—And now am I to go through all that again?
She racked her brain trying to think who the woman could be and wondering what plan of action she should adopt.
—I must be careful. He is all I have now and I must not lose him. I must be careful.
The following afternoon Walter returned. He had been out of town, he said, and looked surprised when she said that she had not received his secretary’s telephone call. He would have to speak to the girl about her carelessness; this was the second time in a week that she had neglected to carry out simple instructions.
There was nothing she could say, the excuse was valid. But Walter’s voice lacked conviction and his eyes were tired and dark-ringed.
LXXV
Months passed and matters between Ruth and Walter did not improve. He was absent from home on many occasions and now the calls from his secretary were not overlooked. The evenings were painful and lonely for Ruth. Then, suddenly, Walter would have a change of heart. He spent evenings at home, he sent her flowers and extravagant gifts every afternoon. For a week or ten days he was overwhelmingly considerate and solicitous and then again he would become a stranger in his home.
One morning after an absence of two days Ruth felt that she must discover what her status was in his life. It was at breakfast. He was silent and distracted as though he were taking his food in the presence of strangers. Marie had taken Bruce to the Park and they were alone.
There Are Victories Page 20