Chapter IV: “what Little Girls Are Made Of”

_“I dreamed we lived in a wood, Mama,
And rested beneath its bowers,
When a butterfly came in its flaunting pride
And I chased it away to the forest wide,
And night came on and I lost my guide,
And I knew not what to do._

_“I cried and I sighed in my fears, Mama,
And I loudly called for thee,
When a white-robed maiden appeared in the air,
And she flung back the locks of her golden hair,
And kissed me sweetly ere I was aware,
Saying ‘Come, little one, with me.’”_

AUTHOR UNKNOWN--_“Old Lullaby”_

1

As he thought of it, Les was more frightened by Em’s letting Howard go than he would have been by her clinging to them both. Change! Change after change. He feared her immediacy, he distrusted women who melt. Em knew she debited cruelly to Les the fact that she had to give up Howard entirely. She was finally quite detached about it and wondered why Les could not be. He tried to have faith.

“I knew you were fine inside, Em.”

She did not reply--she spoke of _him_.

“You’re good, too, Les.”

He was silent, amazed. Praise was bewildering. He grew suspicious.

“You mustn’t get mushy, Em.”

Now he was accusing her of having an ideal of _him_. Les was two-dimensional, a drawing, one could not feel his edges. Em was sculpture. He was outclassed. She spoke curtly.

“You’re the one who’s mushy--about yourself. Humility is a romantic emotion.” Em respected nothing that was not like herself.

“I’m not humble.”

“You’re a martyr.”

“Em--” he protested, bruised.

“Sacrifice that costs too much is an insult,” she continued remorselessly.

They were both walking about the studio, aimlessly and nervously. He was frightened. Why couldn’t she be docile? There was never any stopping-place after such a beginning. And we were going away to peace! Les was afraid to touch her, she made every contact an occasion for making him and herself feel intensely. He was the only one left whom she could hurt without paying for it. Now she hurt him even before others. Once she had kept her whip for private use, recently she had not hesitated to speak completely when their friends were present. Genevieve and Michael had witnessed the last quarrel. Soon it would be strangers! Tides.... The world. The Village coming in--Psychic living with everybody. Treachery of spirit--I’m betrayed to others.

“Em, I shall go away if you ever insist on stripping me again before outsiders,” he had said afterward.

She had rebelled furiously. I won’t be his child!

“Why don’t you go?” she had dared him.

Today he was apprehensive again. She resented his quick trepidation. How can I get through this moment without revealing myself, he thought. She was thinking indignantly, he’s insulting me by being afraid.

“Em, why can’t we be just kind?”

Em felt the same, but she rejected suggestions even though she agreed with them. She was obsessed with preserving her own contours.

“You and I have done something to each other, Les.” Her voice seemed to him callous. “We can never either of us be the same again, we tear each other.”

Les and Em knew they had to talk. It had been gathering too long. They seated themselves and began to discuss their life as if it belonged to others.

“You resent my having any dignity,” he replied spiritlessly. Wring another stimulus. Spiritual clutching and clawing. My strength for this. I shall never write....

She ignored his words.

“Les, we’ve never possessed each other, we make each other cruel.” Em seemed only to be stating a fact.

“You’ve ignored my will, Em. You can’t find any joy in respectful and voluntary communion.” Jealous of my thoughts!

“You’ve no joy in anything,” she gibed. He’ll give me anything but what I want.

Les knew it was hopeless, he had acknowledged too much, but he went on.

“Em, you know what I have--”

“Yes, you have,” she said with quiet bitterness. “Your preconception of me still lives. _I_ died to you a year ago.”

Her mental phrases disconcerted him. He realized that they held portent.

“Em, can’t we begin--?”

“What’s the use, Les?” she interrupted, her eyes gazing far away. “I’ve hated your ideal of me too long.”

He was too tired to argue. Bound together only by dangerous secrets!

“Please don’t, Em,” he begged.

“I can’t bear to share you, Les.” They were both tired.

Howard and Les were the same kind of artist, they both thought generally, Les even felt generally. All he wanted was his picture of himself. He marveled that failure with another hurt him so little, he did not know that alone he could never fail. His trusted mechanisms. Now that he was done--

“I can’t be anything but what I am, Em. I’m sorry.”

Em rose so suddenly that he started in his chair. She had schooled herself until she was tingling.

“You won’t be anything but words!” Why did I try to argue with him? I knew it!

The truth had no words for either of them. He rose too, his voice was colorless.

“An absolute giving of every moment and thought for a lifetime to you is only ordinary kindness,” he said slowly. “You resent one moment for myself as heartless brutality.” Clinging together just to have someone to hurt! Let me go, Em, let me live! Les’s face was set.

Em’s eyes were wide and cruel.

“I don’t want your machine!” she cried, choking. “I want myself--what I want means nothing to you--I want to be alone--”

He looked old. He could no longer suffer, but habit led him. Pity everything that lives--

“Listen, Em--”

She stood straight, her voice trembling.

“Go to Cicely Frank. She wants to stand you--God, how I pity her!”

“Em!” He moved toward her. It can’t go on. I really never expected--

“I want to get away from you!” she said shrilly, backing out of his reach. “You have no heart! You’re a ghost. You’re killing me!” Em held her hands to her head, her eyes staring. “I hate you!” she screamed, “you fool idealist!”

Her repugnance gave him freedom. He was convinced that she could live without him. He spoke decidedly.

“All right, Em.”

His relief maddened her. She struck her own face with her hands, then him. She pushed by him, seized at her coat, stumbled against the table, fumbled at the door. Her eyes were dull, she breathed hoarsely.

“Let me get out of here--I never want to see you again--”

She rushed into the hall tumultuously, with uncertain steps, leaving the door open. Les closed it. He stood thinking of himself. I’m dead, Em thought, as she rushed into the street.

2

Em returned to her hall bedroom on Charles Street. The scrawny woman looked through her spectacles curiously at Em’s strained face. The easel and Em’s trunks were never moved.

Les kept on at his tedious work. It was for himself. It seemed less distasteful somehow. He smoked a great deal, at night. Genevieve came once. She did not dare to go to Em. Les lived entirely by himself. Peaceful ghosts ... separate ... going ... ship ... sunset, sea of blood ... seaweed, float like dead hair ... black moonbeams ... Carl go with me ... forever....

Toby found Em at Charles Street, the scrawny woman suspicious. He looked around the tiny grimy room.

“_Dear_ girl, is it--?” Toby’s eyes were foolish and wet. Em nodded. “Do you think you could love _me_?” He held out his childish hands unbelievingly. He would never have asked for her till she was thrown aside.

She had to smile.

“No, Toby dear, I’ll never want anybody again.”

Toby went sadly.

Gouvain not only made love to her, he dogged her steps.

“Iss zere no hope?” he asked, late one evening. “I lofe ze ground your feets tread.” He swallowed hard. _“Emilie--ma pauvre--je t’aime--je t’adore--moi--”_ He stammered pitifully, his beautiful eyes like a patient dog’s.

Em looked at him, suffering in her face.

“I--no--don’t--” she said, patting his arm kindly. She knew he would not do. After he had had her, it would be the same. It was a pity he was so sweet. He loved her soul because he liked her body! Another fool idealist.

He kissed her hand, gentleness in his whole being.

All grasping at straws! Em felt love was ecstasy, Les felt it was permanence. Em pondered. Love was individuals. They can’t see. Love was.

Les had hope in himself. He walked every evening downtown. At last he met Cicely. There was still no reproach in her eyes. She is kind. I must have--

“Won’t you walk on the Battery awhile before you go home, Cicely?”

Cicely shook her head. Down the cold spring street people rushed by them like driven wraiths. The high buildings rose heavily in the perspective beyond them.

“No, Les.” Her humility made her cruel to herself.

“I didn’t know you were so hard, Cicely.”

She looked at him sadly, her eyes unsoftened.

“A girl has got to have some pride, Les.”

She left him and mingled with those who hurried to the subway.

Now they called to Les, the distant places. His boyhood day-dreams back again. Laboratories and honors, shadowy friends, women, Em, all forgotten. His eyes looked out to sea, that’s the only thing big enough--The garden of the earth ... sun dimmed by grief, there are not even any clouds ... calling, calling ... tossing arms of foam ... light beyond, light falling like rain ... stars, dawn, bright seeds fall to the furrowed sea ... warm, the tropic sun ... hair woven with gold ... sleep....