"I understand," she said coldly. "But perhaps you don't Good night John, drive Mr. . . . What was your name again?"
"Dimwit" I said without hesitation.
She didn't bat an eyelash. "Mr. Dimwit" she said.
I thought of declining, but then I got in. "Drive me to the nearest taxi stand," I said to the driver.
He drove off. "Stop here," I said, two blocks farther on. "I see a cab."
The chauffeur turned around. "Why take a cab? What difference does it make?"
"Plenty."
He shruged his shoulders. I gave him a tip. He shook his head but took it. Then I shook my head. What an ass I am, I thought. "Fifty-seventh and Second Avenue," I said to the driver. "Not Sixty-second."
"Why would I want to go to Sixty-second Street?" he said. "They're all the same to me."
"Not to me," I said.
I stopped at Stern Brothers. The place was full of queens buying cold cuts for supper. I called Natasha. She wasn't expecting me until three hours later, and I didn't want any surprises.
She was there. "Where are you?" she asked. "Taking a breather from your collectors?"
"No. I'm at Stern Brothers."
"Bring home half a pound of salami and a loaf of pumpernickel."
"Butter?"
"We've got butter, but we could do with some cheese."
Suddenly I felt very happy. There were three poodles in the shop when I stepped out of the phone booth. I recognized René and his master, the red-haired Jasper. "Hiya, pardner," said Jasper. "Long time no see."
I bought salami, cheese, bread, and a chocolate cake. "Shopping for a late supper, eh?" Jasper asked.
I looked at him in silence. If he had said anything about supper with my girl friend, I would have crowned him with the cake.
He didn't, but he followed me into the street.
"Going for a little stroll?" he asked. I looked around. It must have been the evening parade hour. Fifty-seventh Street was alive with queers, with and without dogs. Most of the dogs were poodles of varying sizes, but there was also a sprinkling of dachshunds. The atmosphere was festive. Greetings and jokes were exchanged, and conversations struck up as the dogs relieved themselves at the curb. I could see I was attracting attention; Jasper strode along beside me, waving to friends and preening himself as if I were his latest conquest That was too much. I did an abrupt about-face. "What's the hurry?" said Jasper.
"I take communion every morning. I have to go home and get ready. Good-by!"
His scornful laughter followed me in my withdrawal. I stopped at the newsstand. "Quite a crowd!" said Eddie, with disgust.
"Is it always like this?"
"Every evening. Fags' Walk, we call it. More and more of them. I'm getting worried about the birth rate."
I rode up to Natasha's apartment
"I need a bath," I said. "I worship you, but I've got to take a bath."
"Go ahead. Take some of the bath oil, if you want it Mary Chess carnation."
'I'd better not." I don't want to smell of carnation if I meet Jasper in the elevator."
I turned on the water and undressed. "Vodka?" she asked.
"Sure."
She brought me my vodka and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. "How come you got away so soon?"
"I took Mrs. Whymper home. Silvers invited her without telling me."
"And she let you go so quickly? Bravo!"
I sat up in the hot water. "She didn't want to let me go. How do you know that it's not so easy?"
She laughed. "Everybody knows."
"What? That she's a nympho?"
"Not at all. She likes to sit around with younger men, that's all. I told you."
"Are you sure?"
"Everybody knows that."
"Who's everybody?"
"Everybody who knows her. She's lonely, bored with men of her own age, likes Martinis, and is quite harmless. Poor Robert! Were you afraid?"
I grabbed her and tried to pull her into the bathtub. "Let me go!" she screamed. 'This dress doesn't belong to me. It's a model"
I let her go. "What does belong to us anyway? Borrowed apartment borrowed dress, borrowed jewelry, borrowed . . ."
"Isn't it wonderful? No responsibility. Isn't that what you wanted?"
"Have pity on me," I said, "I've had a bad day."
"And you wanted to raise hell with me about Elisa Whymper. You and your famous pact."
"What pact?"
"Not to hurt each other. To help each other recover from old sorrows. To keep our love reasonable and moderate."
She danced around the bathroom. I looked at her in amazement. I sensed that she was building up to an outburst. I was sure I had never said anything of the sort; I couldn't have been that stupid. But I was also dimly aware that she had seen through me and that there was some truth in what she said.
"Give me another drink," I said.
"Admit that we've just been kidding each other," she said.
"Isn't it always that way?"
"I don't know. I keep forgetting."
"Keep? Has it happened to you so often?"
"I've forgotten that, too. You may be an adding machine, but I'm not."
"I'm lying in the bathtub, Natasha. Defenseless. Let's make peace."
"Peace!" she said scornfully. "Who wants peace?"
"The whole world right now. Including Hitler."
"I knew you'd drag that in. Whenever you Huns are in a jam, you fall back on the state of the world."
"Holding up my former nationality to me is like kicking a defenseless man on the ground."
Natasha laughed. Her eyes glittered. "Defenseless men are made to be kicked. That's what they're on the ground for."
"Nietzsche!" I said. "Misinterpreted Nietzsche. What's wrong with you today?"
I stood up and reached for a toweL If I had known this was going to happen, I would have avoided the bathtub like the plague. I could tell by Natasha's eyes and quick movements that what had started out as a joke had become serious.
"That's a marvelous dress," I said. "Imagine my wanting to pull you into the bathtub with it"
"Why didn't you?"
"The water was too hot and the tub too narrow."
I was careful not to remind her that she had screamed and begged me not to; this was no time to be logical. I decided to dress and clear out. Maybe tomorrow would oe a better day.
"What are you dressing for?" Natasha asked.
"I'm cold."
"We can turn off the air conditioning."
"Don't bother. Then you'd be too hot"
She looked at me with suspicion. "You coward! Are you running out on me?"
"I wouldn't think of running out on all that nice salami."
Somehow that infuriated her. "Go to hell!" she screamed. "Go back to your flea-bitten hotel! That's where you belong."
She was trembling with rage. I raised my hands to ward off the ash trays I expected her to start throwing. I was sure she was a dead shot. She looked magnificent. Far from disfiguring her, anger made her more beautiful than ever. She quivered not only with anger, but also with life. I wanted to take her, but something warned me not to. In a lucid moment I realized that it wouldn't have helped; it wouldn't have solved the problem, but only postponed it. The best solution was flight. "As you wish," I said, and dashed out of the apartment.
I had to wait for the elevator. I listened, but heard nothing. Maybe she was expecting me to come back. When the elevator door opened, two poodles rushed out One was René. "Hiya, pardner," said Jasper. "Supper over so soon? How about a spot of brandy on the terrace."
"Too hot," I said. "Besides, I'm on my way to church."
"At this time of night?"
"Midnight mass. I'm the acolyte."
"Acolyte?" Jasper asked. "With a censer and all that snazzy lace? Why, that's charming!"
I stepped on Rene's paw. He yelped and ran up the hallway, pursued by Jasper. I took advantage of the diversion to close the elevator door and press the
button. The elevator smelled of Chevalier d'Orsay. Once outside, I had a moment's hesitation, but quickly decided it would be a mistake to go back. In front of the Lowy brothers' window I stopped again and gazed at some French brass candlesticks and porcelain flowers. Unfortunately, they reminded me of that evening with Natasha after the storm.
Melikov was on duty. "Cafard?" he asked.
I nodded. "How did you know?"
"One look at your face. Do you want a drink?"
I shook my head. "Liquor only makes it worse in the first stage."
"What's the first stage?"
"When I realize that I've behaved like a humorless fool."
"And the second?"
"When I realize that if s all over and I'm to blame."
While Melikov was busy with his room service, I sank into deep gloom. "Good evening," said a voice behind me.
Lachmann! I wanted to get up and run. "You're all I needed," I said.
He pushed me back into my chair. "I won't tell you any troubles," he whispered. "The days of misery are over. You see before you a happy man!"
"You mean you've made her?"
"Who?"
I raised my head. "Who? You shake the whole hotel with your lamentations, and now you have the nerve to ask who?"
"That's water under the bridge," said Lachmann. "I'm a quick forgetter."
"You really do seem cheerful," I said, with a certain envy.
"I've found a jewel," Lachmann whispered. "A jewel without a Mexican."
Melikov called me from the desk. "Robert. Telephone."
"Who is it?"
"Natasha."
I picked up the receiver. "Where are you?" she asked.
"At Silvers' party."
"Don't be silly. You're drinking Melikov's vodka."
"I'm down on my knees to the chair you last sat in, worshiping you and cursing my fate. Tm crushed."
She laughed. "Come back, Robert."
"Armed?"
"Unarmed, you fool. How can you leave me alone like this?"
"I'm spending the night here," I announced to Natasha. "I want to sleep with you and wake up with you. In the morning I'll go out for milk and eggs, and if I meet René and Jasper in the elevator, tant pis. It will be our first waking-up together. We're not together enough—that's why we have these misunderstandings. We've got to get used to each other."
She stretched. "I've always thought life was too long to be together all the time."
I couldn't help laughing. "There's probably something in that," I said. "I've never had a chance to find out."
For a time we lay on the bed in silence.
"I feel as if we were in a balloon," I said finally. "Not on a plane, but in a silent balloon, just high enough not to hear anything but to see the streets, the toy cars, and the city lights. God bless the unknown benefactor who brought this big bed up here, and that wall mirror. When you walk around the room, it turns you into twins, and one of them is mute."
"Which one is nicer? The mute one, I suppose?"
"No."
She patted my head. "That was the right answer."
"You're very beautifuy I said. "Usually the first thing I look at in a woman is her legs, and then her ass. The face comes last With you the order was reversed. First your face and then your legs. I didn't start thinking about your ass until I'd fallen in love. I was worried at first. You were so slender, I thought it might be fiat, bony, nonexistent"
"When did you stop worrying?"
"Very soon. There are simple ways of finding out. The funny part was that it took me so long to get interested in it"
"Tell me some more."
She lay sprawled on the bed like a lazy cat. I almost fancied that I could hear her purring. "Go on talking."
"I used to think sunburned women would be my dish," I said. "Creatures who splash around in the water and lie in the sun all summer. And now my dream girl turns out to be white, as though the sun had never touched her skin. There's a good deal of the moon about you—those transparent gray eyes, for instance. Except of course, for your peppery temperament An explosive nymph, that's what you are: rockets, firecrackers, Roman candles, gunfire. But somehow they don't seem to make any noise."
"Tell me some more. Do you want a drink?"
I shook my head. "I've never really faced up to my emotions before. I treated them like a side issue, the glanced off me, I never let myself feel their full impact I don't know why. Maybe I was afraid. With you it's different With you I have no fears. Everything is open and aboveboard. It's wonderful to make love to you, and it's just as wonderful to be with you afterward, like now."
"Tell me some more."
I looked into the dimly lit living room. "Ifs wonderful to be with you and imagine that we're immortal," I said. "Sometimes I really believe it, and so do you, I think; we're so much a part of each other that even now when we're as close together as two bodies can be, we want to be even closer, and that's why we cry out; that's the meaning of the crude, primitive, obscene words that burst out of us."
Natasha stretched voluptuously, and a few minutes later she was fast asleep. I spread the sheet over her and lay awake for a long time, listening to her breathing.
XXI
Betty Stein was back. "Nobody tells me the truth," she wailed. "Neither my friends nor my enemies.''
"You have no enemies, Betty."
"You're an angel. But why don't they tell me the truth? I could bear'it. Not knowing is much worse."
I cast a questioning glance at Oräfenheim, who was sitting on the other side of her. "We've told you the truth, Betty. What makes you insist on believing the worst?"
She smiled like a child. "Then I'd be able to adjust myself," she said. "If I'm all right, I'll just drift along as usual; I know myself. But if I know my life is in danger, I'll fight. I'll fight like a mad-woman for the time I have left. And maybe, by fighting, I can make it last longer. Otherwise I'll waste it. Don't you understand?"
"I understand perfectly. But if Dr. Gräfenheim says you're all right, you ought to believe him. Why would he lie to you?"
"Because they always do. A doctor never tells the truth."
"Not even when, he's an old friend?"
"Especially when he's an old friend."
She had been home for three days, and for three days she had been tormenting herself and her friends with such questions. Her face still had the softness of an immature young girl's; all her suffering and anxiety were revealed in her restless, intense eyes. Now and then someone thought of something to say that put her mind at rest for a while, and she was all childlike gratitude; but an hour or two later her doubts revived. She was sitting in an old armchair she had bought from the Lowy brothers because it reminded her of Europe, surrounded by her engravings of Berlin. The news of the almost daily bombing of Berlin threw her into such a turmoil that at the hospital Gräfenheim had given orders that she was not to see the papers. It had done no good. The next day he found her in tears by the radio. What made it worse was that her grief over Berlin conflicted with her hatred of the murderers who had killed several members of her family, and that she was obliged to hide her feelings about Berlin from other refugees, who because they were unable to dispel such feelings in themselves were only too ready to condemn them in others.
"How are you getting along, Ross?" she asked me.
"Very well, Betty."
"That's good to hear." My little bit of good fortune was a message of hope to her. If someone else was getting along, why wouldn't she, too, be all right? "I'm so glad," she said. "Very well, did you say?"
"Yes, Betty, very well."
She nodded with satisfaction. "They've bombed Olivaer Platz in Berlin," she whispered. "Did you know?"
"They're bombing the whole city," I said.
"I know. But Olivaer Platz—-that's where we lived." She looked diffidently around. "Most people get angry when I talk about it Our beautiful old Berlin."
"It's not really so beautiful," I said cautiously.
"Compared with Paris or Rome. As architecture, I mean."