CHAPTER XXXVI
LEFT BEHIND
EMPTY!
He did not enter the tiny room. Now, all at once, it seemed a sacredplace, having for so long sheltered her who was sweet and fine. And hefelt instinctively that the blue-walled retreat was not for him; that heshould not stretch himself out in his soiled, ragged clothes on thatdainty couch-shelf where she had lain.
He stood on the threshold to look in. How beautiful it was! From to-dayforward, would she truly have another any handsomer? The faint perfumeof it (just recently she had acquired a fresh stock of orris root) waslike a breath from some flower-filled garden--such a garden as he hadread about in _The Story of Aladdin_. And yes, the little cell itselfwas like one of Aladdin's caskets from which had been taken a preciousjewel.
Just now it was a casket very much in disarray, for Cis had tumbled itin wind-storm fashion as she made ready to leave, carelessly throwingdown several things that she had formerly handled delicately: the paperroses, the sliver of mirror, the pretty face of a moving-picturefavorite. As for that box flounced with bright crepe paper, it wasignominiously heaved to one side. And that cherished likeness of Mr.Roosevelt was hanging slightly askew.
But Johnnie did not set straight the photograph of his hero, or stoop topick anything up. He could think of just one thing: she was gone!
And she would never come back--never, never, never, never! He began torepeat the word, as he and Cis had been wont to repeat words, tryinghard to realize the whole of their meaning: "Never! never! never!never." And once more there came over him that curious lost feeling thathe had suffered after Aunt Sophie was gone in the clanging ambulance.Once more, too, he grew rebellious. "Oh, why does ev'rything have t' go'n' bust up!" he questioned brokenly, voicing again the eternal protestof youth against an unexpected, pain-dealing shift in Life's program.
That time he had run away, she had promised that she would never leave_him_!--had said it with many nevers. "And she ain't ever before stayedout in the evenin' like this," he told himself. No, not in all the yearshe had been at the Barber flat.
However, he felt no resentment toward her for going. How could he? Nowthat she was away, she seemed unspeakably dear, faultlessly perfect.
But, left behind, what was he? what did he have? what would become ofhim? To all those questions there was only one answer: Nothing. He wasalone with a helpless, childish, old man and that other. "And I've tried'n' tried!" he protested (he meant that he had tried to please Barber,tried to do his work better, tried to deserve more consideration fromthe longshoreman). And this was what had come of all his striving: Cishad been driven away.
"Oh, nothin' worse can happen t' me!" he declared despairingly."Nothin'! nothin'!" What a staff she had always been, and how much hehad leaned upon that staff, he did not suspect till now, when it waswrenched from under his hand. He had a fuller understanding, too, ofwhat a comfort she had steadily been--she, the only bright and beautifulthing in the dark, poor flat! And to think that, boylike, he had evershrunk out from under her caressing fingers, or fled from her profferedkiss! O his darling comrade and friend! O little mother and sister inone!
"Cis!" he faltered. "Cis!"
An almost intolerable sense of loss swept him, like a wave brimming thecup of his grief. His forehead seemed to be bulging, as if it wouldburst. His heart was bursting, too. And something was tearing, clawlike,at his throat and at his vitals. Just where the lower end of hisbreastbone left off was the old, awful, aching, gnawing, "gone" feeling.Much in his short life he had found hard to bear; but never anything soappalling as this! If only he might cry a little!
"Sir Gawain, he c-cried," he remembered, "when he found out he wasf-fightin' his own b-brother. And Sir G-Gareth, he c-cried too." Also,no law of the twelve in the Handbook forbade a scout to weep.
His eyes closed, his mouth lengthened out pathetically, his cheekspuckered, his chin drew up grotesquely, trembling as if tortured; thenhe bent his head and began to sob, terribly, yet silently, for he fearedto waken Grandpa. Down his hurt face streamed the tears, to fall on thebig, old shirt, and on his feet, while he leaned against the door-jamb,a drooping, shaking, broken-hearted little figure.
"Oh, I can't git along without her!" he whispered. "I can't stand it!Oh, I want her back! I want her back!"
When he had cried away the sharp edge of his grief, a deliciously sadmood came over him. In _The Legends of King Arthur_, more than onegrieving person had succumbed to sorrow. He wondered if he would die ofhis; and he saw himself laid out, stricken, on a barge, attended bythree Queens, who were putting to sea to take him to the Vale ofAvilion.
The picture brought him peace.
There followed one of his thinks. He brought Cis back into the littleroom, seated her on her narrow bed, with her slender shoulders leanedagainst the excelsior pillow which once she had prized. In her bestdress, which was white, she showed ghostily among the shadows. But hecould see her violet eyes clearly, and the look in them was tender andloving.
He held out his arms to her.
Somewhere, far off, a bell rang. It was like a summons. The wraith ofhis own making vanished. He wiped his eyes, now with one fringed sleeve,now with the other, stooped and felt round just inside the little roomfor his scrap of mattress and the quilt, took them up, softly shut thedoor, and turned about.
That same moment the hall door began slowly to open, propelled fromwithout by an unseen hand. "St!" came a low warning. Next, a dim handshowed itself, reaching in at the floor level with a large yellow bowl.It placed the bowl to one side, disappeared, returned again at once witha goodish chunk of _schwarzbrod_, laid the bread beside the bowl,traveled up to the outside knob, and drew the door to.
He knew that the dim hand was plump and brown, and that it belonged tothe little Jewish lady, who never yet had been forgetful of him, who wasalways prompt with motherly help. He knew that; and yet, as he watchedit all, there was something of a sweet mystery about it, and he wasreminded of that wonderful arm, clothed in white samite, which had comethrusting up out of the lake to give the sword Excalibur to great KingArthur.
He did not go to get what had been left (noodles, he guessed, tastilythickening a broth). Grandpa was already fed for the night, and asleepin the wheel chair, where Johnnie intended to leave him, not liking torap on the bedroom door and disturb Big Tom. As for his own appetite, itseemed to have deserted him forever.
Noiselessly he put down his bedding beside the table. And it was thenthat he made out, by the faint light coming in at the window, the twodolls, Letitia and Edwarda, huddled together on the oilcloth. Letitia,small, old, worn out in long service to her departed mistress, had onesawdust arm thrown across Edwarda. And Edwarda, proud though she was,and beautiful in her silks and laces, had a smooth, round, artfullyjointed arm thrown across Letitia. It was as if each was comforting theother!
Johnnie picked up the old doll. Somehow she seemed closer and dearer tohim than the new one. Perhaps--who knew?--she, also, was mourning theabsent beloved. (If there was any feeling in her, she had beeninconsolable this long time, what with being cast aside for a granderrival.) "Well, Letitia," he whispered, "here we are, you and--and me!"
It was growing dark in the kitchen. Besides, no one was there to markhis weakness and taunt him with it. He put his face against faithfulLetitia's faded dress--that dress which Cis herself had made, prickingher pink fingers scandalously in the process, and had washed and ironedseason after season. That was it! He loved the old doll the betterbecause she was a part of Cis.
"Oh, dear Letitia!" he whispered again, and strained the doll to hisheart.
Then he took up Edwarda, who opened her eyes with a sharp click.Edwarda, favorite of her young owner, smelled adorably--like the tinyroom, like the birthday roses, like apples. And her dainty presence,exhaling the familiar scent of the dressing-table box, brought Cis evennearer to him than had Letitia. With a choking exclamation, he caughtthe new doll to him along with the old, and held both tight.
Then dropping to th
e mattress, he laid the pair side by side beforecrumpling down with them, digging his nose into one of Edwarda'sfragrant sleeves. The instant her head struck the bed, Edwarda hadclicked her eyes shut, as if quite indifferent to all that had happenedthat day (not to speak of the previous night), and had fallen asleeplike a shot. Not so the sterling Letitia, who lay staring, open-eyed, atthe ceiling.
But Johnnie, worn with emotion, weak from yesterday's whipping, sick andweary from last night's long hours across the table edge, sank into adeep and merciful and repairing sleep.