第6天 ! 心有不甘的女士们

Thisabsorbing information about my neighbor was interrupted by Mrs. McKee'spointing suddenly at Catherine:

"Chester,I think you could do something with HER," she broke out, but Mr. McKeeonly nodded in a bored way and turned his attention to Tom.

"I'dlike to do more work on Long Island if I could get the entry. All I ask is thatthey should give me a start."

"AskMyrtle," said Tom, breaking into a short shout of laughter as Mrs. Wilsonentered with a tray. "She'll give you a letter of introduction, won't you,Myrtle?"

"Dowhat?" she asked, startled.

"You'llgive McKee a letter of introduction to your husband, so he can do some studiesof him." His lips moved silently for a moment as he invented. "'George B. Wilson at the Gasoline Pump,' or something like that."

Catherineleaned close to me and whispered in my ear: "Neither of them can stand theperson they're married to."

"Can'tthey?"

"Can'tSTAND them." She looked at Myrtle and then at Tom. "What I say is,why go on living with them if they can't stand them? If I was them I'd get adivorce and get married to each other right away."

"Doesn'tshe like Wilson either?"

Theanswer to this was unexpected. It came from Myrtle who had overheard thequestion and it was violent and obscene.

"Yousee?" cried Catherine triumphantly. She lowered her voice again.

"It'sreally his wife that's keeping them apart. She's a Catholic and they don'tbelieve in divorce."

Daisywas not a Catholic and I was a little shocked at the elaborateness of the lie.

"Whenthey do get married," continued Catherine, "they're going west tolive for a while until it blows over."

"It'dbe more discreet to go to Europe."

"Oh,do you like Europe?" she exclaimed surprisingly. "I just got backfrom Monte Carlo."

"Really."

"Justlast year. I went over there with another girl."

"Staylong?"

"No,we just went to Monte Carlo and back. We went by way of Marseilles.

Wehad over twelve hundred dollars when we started but we got gypped out of it allin two days in the private rooms. We had an awful time getting back, I can tellyou. God, how I hated that town!"

Thelate afternoon sky bloomed in the window for a moment like the blue honey ofthe Mediterranean--then the shrill voice of Mrs. McKee called me back into theroom.

"Ialmost made a mistake, too," she declared vigorously. "I almostmarried a little kyke who'd been after me for years. I knew he was below me.Everybody kept saying to me: 'Lucille, that man's way below you!' But if Ihadn't met Chester, he'd of got me sure."

"Yes,but listen," said Myrtle Wilson, nodding her head up and down, "atleast you didn't marry him."

"Iknow I didn't."

"Well,I married him," said Myrtle, ambiguously. "And that's the differencebetween your case and mine."

"Whydid you, Myrtle?" demanded Catherine. "Nobody forced you to."

Myrtleconsidered.

"Imarried him because I thought he was a gentleman," she said finally.

"Ithought he knew something about breeding, but he wasn't fit to lick myshoe."

"Youwere crazy about him for a while," said Catherine.

"Crazyabout him!" cried Myrtle incredulously. "Who said I was crazy abouthim? I never was any more crazy about him than I was about that manthere."

Shepointed suddenly at me, and every one looked at me accusingly.

Itried to show by my expression that I had played no part in her past.

"Theonly CRAZY I was was when I married him. I knew right away I made a mistake. Heborrowed somebody's best suit to get married in and never even told me aboutit, and the man came after it one day when he was out.

She lookedaround to see who was listening: " 'Oh, is that your suit?' I said.

'Thisis the first I ever heard about it.' But I gave it to him and then I lay downand cried to beat the band all afternoon."

"Shereally ought to get away from him," resumed Catherine to me.

"They'vebeen living over that garage for eleven years. And Tom's the first sweetie sheever had."

Thebottle of whiskey--a second one--was now in constant demand by all present,excepting Catherine who "felt just as good on nothing at all."

Tomrang for the janitor and sent him for some celebrated sandwiches, which were acomplete supper in themselves. I wanted to get out and walk eastward toward thepark through the soft twilight but each time I tried to go I became entangledin some wild strident argument which pulled me back, as if with ropes, into mychair. Yet high over the city our line of yellow windows must have contributedtheir share of human secrecy to the casual watcher in the darkening streets,and I was him too, looking up and wondering. I was within and without,simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.

Myrtlepulled her chair close to mine, and suddenly her warm breath poured over me thestory of her first meeting with Tom.

"Itwas on the two little seats facing each other that are always the last onesleft on the train. I was going up to New York to see my sister and spend thenight. He had on a dress suit and patent leather shoes and I couldn't keep myeyes off him but every time he looked at me I had to pretend to be looking atthe advertisement over his head.

Whenwe came into the station he was next to me and his white shirt-front pressedagainst my arm--and so I told him I'd have to call a policeman, but he knew Ilied. I was so excited that when I got into a taxi with him I didn't hardlyknow I wasn't getting into a subway train. All I kept thinking about, over andover, was 'You can't live forever, you can't live forever.' "

Sheturned to Mrs. McKee and the room rang full of her artificial laughter.

"Mydear," she cried, "I'm going to give you this dress as soon as I'mthrough with it. I've got to get another one tomorrow. I'm going to make a listof all the things I've got to get. A massage and a wave and a collar for thedog and one of those cute little ash-trays where you touch a spring, and awreath with a black silk bow for mother's grave that'll last all summer. I gotto write down a list so I won't forget all the things I got to do."

Itwas nine o'clock--almost immediately afterward I looked at my watch and foundit was ten. Mr. McKee was asleep on a chair with his fists clenched in his lap,like a photograph of a man of action. Taking out my handkerchief I wiped fromhis cheek the remains of the spot of dried lather that had worried me all theafternoon.

Thelittle dog was sitting on the table looking with blind eyes through the smokeand from time to time groaning faintly. People disappeared, reappeared, madeplans to go somewhere, and then lost each other, searched for each other, foundeach other a few feet away. Some time toward midnight Tom Buchanan and Mrs.Wilson stood face to face discussing in impassioned voices whether Mrs. Wilsonhad any right to mention Daisy's name.

"Daisy!Daisy! Daisy!" shouted Mrs. Wilson. "I'll say it whenever I want to!Daisy! Dai----"

Makinga short deft movement Tom Buchanan broke her nose with his open hand.

Thenthere were bloody towels upon the bathroom floor, and women's voices scolding,and high over the confusion a long broken wail of pain. Mr. McKee awoke fromhis doze and started in a daze toward the door.

Whenhe had gone half way he turned around and stared at the scene--his wife andCatherine scolding and consoling as they stumbled here and there among thecrowded furniture with articles of aid, and the despairing figure on the couchbleeding fluently and trying to spread a copy of "Town Tattle" overthe tapestry scenes of Versailles.

ThenMr. McKee turned and continued on out the door. Taking my hat from thechandelier I followed.

"Cometo lunch some day," he suggested, as we groaned down in the elevator.

"Where?"

"Anywhere."

"Keepyour hands off the lever," snapped the elevator boy.

"Ibeg your pardon," said Mr. McKee with dignity, "I didn't know I wastouching it."

"Allright," I agreed, "I'll be glad to."

... Iwas standing beside his bed and he was sitting up between the sheets, clad inhis underwear, with a great portfolio in his hands.

"Beautyand the Beast... Loneliness... Old Grocery Horse...

Brook'nBridge...."

ThenI was lying half asleep in the cold lower level of the Pennsylvania Station,staring at the morning "Tribune" and waiting for the four o'clocktrain.