Chapter II: Mist

_“I won’t be my father’s Jack.
I won’t be my father’s Jill.
I will be the fiddler’s wife,
And have music when I will.
T’other little tune, t’other little tune,
Prythee, love, play me t’other little tune.”_

_“Mother Goose’s Rhymes”_

1

The fact of Howard’s rather prompt desertion of Algeria had sowed poison in Em’s relation with Les. She did not realize this, I knew Howard couldn’t stand her. Did _our_ relation really mean something to him? Em was desperate at not being able to work. She would not admit that the new Les had disappointed her unalterably.

Les had found Cicely, had met her accidentally in downtown New York. Cicely was seeking work. He had tried to be friends with her, had offered to take her to the Empire State Trust Company, to ask Mr. Sutton to employ her as young Babbitt’s assistant. Cicely had not reproached him, but had refused help, had refused to be friends. Les told it all to Em.

“Why should she hate you, Les?”

“She doesn’t. It’s the same kind of pride I should have.”

Em had hoped he would condemn Cicely. She admired him for not doing so, but she despaired.

“You must find some way to help her, Les.” A frozen hand caught Em by the throat. She knew that she would always have to share Les with Cicely, whether Cicely was there or not. I’m not big enough--

Les worked early and late. Freelancing was a hopeless campaign. He said nothing, but he was too tired to make love. Em often left him and went out. He’s happier when I’m away, she told herself. She saw Howard frequently. Greenwich Village is a neighborhood. Once he was in a restaurant with Cicely. That worried her. She felt a conspiracy of understanding from which she was excluded. Once Howard overtook Em on the street.

“Shall we have some tea?” He looked young and artless, smiling at her, a suggestion of pain hidden in his eyes. Em was sentimentally conscience-stricken that she had broken so brutally with Howard.

“I don’t mind.” She was so pleased that she was surprised at herself. It was relief to be with Howard again. He understands my inadequacies, how inevitable they are.

Unconsciously she drifted into trying to hold to Les and yet get Howard back. She explained it to herself, that a human relation had survived between them all. Em was honest, but intellectually blind. Her emotions were subtle. She was frightened that she wanted Howard again, but their past mutual cruelties in the gray of her present apathy seemed life. She inarticulately felt that Les and Howard combined would be complete. She tried to argue herself into a justification of such a situation.

Deep in Em’s unconscious self Cicely stood. Cicely was Em’s audience. Em was pathetically trying to wring, first from Les and then from Howard, some sign that she, too, was physically compelling. After Algeria, Howard could not put Em out of his mind. He wanted Em, for vanity’s sake. He needed to leave on her some mark of his power. She wanted him for stimulus. After Howard, she could not endure alone the lack of stress with Les. She would not conceal her actions.

“Les, should you mind if Howard came here occasionally?”

Les’s large brow wrinkled. His hair, swept backward over his head, was becoming streaked with gray. He thought a moment, his small powerful hands clenched. The passenger rocked the boat! Ha! Ha! Ha! Am I going insane? Yes, it’s true--

“Why do you want him, Em?” No security. Failure. Love is defenselessness before one person. Its pathos arises chiefly from the fallacy that it will be a source of comfort in a hostile world. Bah! What good thinking? He was betrayed. I am old....

“Do you think there is any reason why we should act conventionally, Les?” Em at the moment really believed what she said. She did not notice something impelling her.

“Why risk our happiness again, Em?” He felt degraded by pleading.

“Why fear risks?” she asked valiantly. “Why not prove our happiness? That Les cared exhilarated her. Was he happy? Child of the moment, she had forgotten Howard, though they were discussing him.

“Are you sure you aren’t beginning to care for him again?” Must I be defiled by jealousy? “You think if you take risks emotionally enough they aren’t risks.”

Em was repulsed.

“Of course on your theory of the emotions that’s the obvious explanation.” She caught at anything to defend herself. _I_ can’t tell the truth either. How like my talks with Howard!

Les felt that he knew his fatal handicap. I’m constructive. Em and Howard were both destructive. I realize I have lost.

“Why must you have him? Love can’t exist without fortitude, Em.” She won’t use will power--

Now he’s preaching to me, she thought resentfully.

“Why shouldn’t I?” she demanded. “I’m not in love with him.”

Les bowed his head. Dividing soul and body. Degrading both. Secret smiles ... speak no word....

“I make no objection,” he said.

2

Howard came. There was almost a flourish in his mien. He would never love Em again, he thought. She belongs with Lester.

“How are you, Drane?”

Les took his hand without reply. Em’s small beautiful head above her slender neck. Em’s delicacy and distinction of body, wistful boy-girl body with its hard pointing breasts. Her bravado and pathos. I can’t bear for him to see her as I see her. Damn the Village! Place where you share your money and the body of your woman--slime!

Em had put flowers on the table. She had arranged her marvelous hair carefully, wore a becoming gown Les had never seen. Howard imitated himself, displayed his social skill, charm. He was playing to Les more than to Em. He retailed a clever risqué story. Em laughed lightly.

“What poison-minded people!”

Howard flashed.

“People’s imaginations are like necessary evils in society.”

A string of neat phrases. Les appeared surly and clownish. He knew it. His smile was a dead man’s smile. Em and Howard striking fire from each other! Flowers. Hair. Gown. I will not! Anguish. Cold hollow of her breast ... beauty grown foul.... He rose and grasped his hat and coat.

“You must excuse me.”

Les stumbled as he walked down the stairs, his hand on the rail.

3

When Les returned Em was alone. She lay on the bed, her thin body contorted in an agony of weeping.

Les could not speak. Will the end come? What do I want? The night outside. The moon ... still pool ... white arms enfold me....

He seated himself in a chair. Morning. He was still there.

Em had gone to sleep.