His Smile

by Susan Glaspell

　　Laura stood across the street waiting for the people to come out fromthe picture-show. She couldn't have said just why she was waiting,unless it was that she was waiting because she could not go away. Shewas not wearing her black; she had a reason for not wearing it when shecame on these trips, and the simple lines of her dark-blue suit and thesmart little hat Howie had always liked on her, somehow suggested youngand happy things. Two soldiers came by; one of them said, "Hello, there,kiddo," and the other, noting the anxiety with which she waited, assuredher, "You should worry." She looked at them, and when he saw her facethe one who had said, "You should worry," said, in sheepish fashion,"Well, I should worry," as if to get out of the apology he didn't knowhow to make. She was glad they had gone by. It hurt so to be near thesoldiers.

　　The man behind her kept saying, "Pop-corn! Pop-corn right here."It seemed she must buy pop-corn if she stood there. She bought some. Shetried to do the thing she was expected to do—so she wouldn't benoticed.

　　Then the people came pushing out from the theater. They did it just asthey did it in the other towns. A new town was only the same town in adifferent place; and all of it was a world she was as out of as if itwere passing before her in a picture. All of it except that one thingthat was all she had left! She had come so far to have it tonight. Shewouldn't be cheated. She crossed the street, and as the last peoplewere coming out of the theater she went in.A man, yawning, was doing something to a light. He must belong to theplace. His back was to her, and she stood there trying to get braveenough to speak. It had never been easy for her to open conversationswith strangers. For so many years it was Howie who had seemed to connecther with the world. And suddenly she thought of how sorry Howie would beto see her waiting around in this dismal place after every one else hadgone, trying to speak to a strange man about a thing that man wouldn'tat all understand. How well Howie would understand it! He would say, "Goon home, Laura." "Don't do this, sweetheart." Almost as if he had saidit, she turned away. But she turned back. This was her weddinganniversary.

　　She went up to the man. "You didn't give all of the picture tonight, didyou?" Her voice was sharp; it mustn't tremble.

　　He looked round at her in astonishment. He kept looking her up and downas if to make her out. Her trembling hands clutched the bag of pop-cornand some of it spilled. She let it all fall and put one hand to hermouth.

　　A man came down from upstairs. "Lady here says you didn't give the wholeshow tonight," said the first man.

　　The young man on the stairs paused in astonishment. He, too, lookedLaura up and down. She took a step backward.

　　"What was left out wasn't of any importance, lady," said the man,looking at her, not unkindly, but puzzled.

　　"I think it was!" she contended in a high, sharp voice. They both staredat her. As she realized that this could happen, saw how slight was herhold on the one thing she had, she went on, desperately, "You haven'tany right to do this! It's—it's cheating."

　　They looked then, not at her, but at each other—as the sane counseltogether in the presence of what is outside their world. Oh, she knewthat look! She had seen her brother and his wife doing it when first sheknew about Howie.

　　"Now I'll tell you, lady," said the man to whom she had first spoken,in the voice that deals with what has to be dealt with carefully, "youjust let me give you your money back, then you won't have the feelingthat you've been cheated." He put his hand in his pocket.

　　"I don't want my money back!" cried Laura. "I—want to see what you leftout!"

　　"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do," proposed the young man, taking hiscue from the older one. "I'll tell you just exactly what happened in thepart that was left out."

　　"I know exactly what happened," cut in Laura. "I—I want to see—whathappened."

　　It was a cry from so deep that they didn't know what to do.

　　"Won't you do it for me?" she begged of the young man, going up to him."What you left out—won't you show it for me—now?"

　　He just stood there staring at her.

　　"It means—! It—" But how could she tell them what it meant? She lookedfrom one to the other, as if to see what chance there was of their doingit without knowing what it meant. When she couldn't keep sobs back, sheturned away.

　　Even in her room at the hotel she had to try to keep from crying. Shecould hear the man moving around in the next room—so he, of course,could hear her, too. It was all as it was in the pictures—peoplecrowded together, and all of it something that seemed life and reallywasn't. Even that—the one thing, the one moment—really wasn't life.But it was all she had! If she let herself think of how little that allwas—it was an emptiness she was afraid of.

　　The people who had tried to comfort her used to talk of how much she hadhad. She would wonder sometimes why they were talking on her sideinstead of their own. For if you have had much—does that make it easyto get along with nothing? Why couldn't they see it? That because ofwhat Howie had been to her—and for ten years!—she just didn't know anyway of going on living without Howie!

　　Tonight made fresh all her wedding anniversaries—brought happiness tolife again. It almost took her in. And because she had been so near thedear, warm things in which she had lived, when morning came she couldn'tget on the train that would take her back to that house to which Howiewould never come again. Once more it all seemed slipping from her. Theremust be something. As a frightened child runs for home, she turned tothat place where—for at least a moment—it was as if Howie were there.

　　She went to the telegraph office and wired the company that sent out"The Cross of Diamonds," asking where that film could be seen. She hadlearned that this was the way to do it. She had known nothing about suchthings at first; it had been hard to find out the ways of doing. It wasa world she didn't know the ways of.

　　When she got her answer, and found that the place where "The Cross ofDiamonds" would be shown that night was more than a hundred milesaway—that it meant going that much farther away from home—she toldherself this was a thing she couldn't do. She told herself this muststop—that her brother was right in the things he said against it. Itwouldn't do. He hadn't said it was crazy, but that was what he meant—orfeared. She had told him she would try to stop. Now was the time to doit—now when she would have to go so much farther away. But—it wasgoing farther away—this glimpse of Howie—all that was left of Howiewas moving away from her! And after the disappointment of the nightbefore—She must see him once more! Then—yes, then she would stop.

　　She was excited when she had decided to do this. It lifted her out ofthe nothingness. From this meager thing her great need could in a waycreate the feeling that she was going to meet Howie. Once more she wouldsee him do that thing which was so like him as to bring him back intolife. Why should she turn from it? What were all the other thingscompared with this thing? This was one little flash of life in a worldthat had ceased to be alive.

　　So again that night, in the clothes he had most liked, she went for thatpoor little meeting with her husband—so pitifully little, and yet sotremendous because it was all she would ever have. Again she sat in abig, noisy place with many jostling, laughing people—and waited to seeHowie. She forgot that the place had ugly red walls and sickly greenlights; she could somehow separate herself from harsh voices andsmells—for she was here to meet Howie!

　　She knew just the part of the house to sit in. Once she had sat whereshe couldn't see him as he passed from sight! After that she had alwayscome very early. So she had to sit there while other people were comingin. But she didn't much mind that; it was like sitting in a crowdedrailway station when the person you love is coming soon.

　　But suddenly something reached over that gulf between other people andher. A word. A terrible word. Behind her some one said "munitions." Sheput her hand to her eyes and pressed tight. Not to see. That was whyshe had to keep coming for this look at Howie. She had to seehim—that she might shut out that—the picture of Howie—blown intopieces.

　　She hated people. They were always doing something like this to her.She hated all these people in the theater. It seemed they were all,somehow, against her. And Howie had been so good to them! He was so goodto people like the people in this theater. It was because he was so goodand kind to them that he was—that he was not Howie now. He was alwaysthinking of people's comfort—the comfort of people who had to workhard. From the time he went into his father's factory he had always beenthinking up ways of making people more comfortable in their work. To seegirls working in uncomfortable chairs, or standing hour after hour attables too low or too high for them—he couldn't pass those things by asothers passed them by. He had a certain inventive faculty, and hiskindness was always making use of that. His father used to tell him hewould break them all up in business if his mind went on working in thatdirection. He would tell him if he was going to be an inventor he hadbetter think up some money-making inventions. Howie would laugh andreply that he'd make it all up some day. And at last one of the thingshe had thought out to make it better for people was really going to makeit better for Howie. It was a certain kind of shade for the eyes. Ithad been a relief to the girls in their little factory, and it was beingtried out elsewhere. It was even being used a little in one of the bigmunition plants. Howie was there seeing about it. And while he wasthere—He went in there Howie. There wasn't even anything to carry out.

　　The picture had begun. She had to wait until almost half of it hadpassed before her moment came. The story was a tawdry, meaningless thingabout the adventures of two men who had stolen a diamond cross—astrange world into which to come to find Howie. Chance had caught himinto it—he was one of the people passing along a street which was beingtaken for the picture. His moment was prolonged by his stopping to dothe kind of thing Howie would do, and now it was as if that one momentwas the only thing saved out of Howie's life. They who made the picturehad apparently seen that the moment was worth keeping—they left it as apart of the stream of life that was going by while the detective oftheir story waited for the men for whom he had laid a trap. The storyitself had little relation to real things—yet chance made it thisvehicle for keeping something of the reality that had been Howie—adisclosing moment captured unawares.

　　She was thinking of the strangeness of all this when again the peopleseated back of her said a thing that came right to her. They were saying"scrap-heap." She knew—before she knew why—that this had something todo with her. Then she found that they were talking about this film. Itwas ready for the scrap-heap. It was on its last legs. They laughed andsaid perhaps they were seeing its "last appearance."

　　She tried to understand what it meant. Then even this would cease to bein the world. She had known she ought to stop following the picturearound, she had even told herself this would be the last time she wouldcome to see it—but to feel it wouldn't any longer be there to beseen—that even this glimpse of Howie would go out—go out as life goesout—scrap-heap! She sat up straight and cleared her throat. She wouldhave to leave. She must get air. But she looked to see where they were.Not far now. She might miss Howie! With both hands she took hold of thesides of the seat. She was not going to fall forward! Notsuffocating. Not until after she had seen him.

　　Now. The detective has left the hotel—he is walking along the street.He comes to the cigar-store door, and there steps in to watch. And therecomes the dog! Then it was not going to be cut out tonight! Along comesthe little dog—pawing at his muzzle. He stops in distress in front ofthe cigar-store. People pass and pay no attention to the dog—there onthe sidewalk. And then—in the darkened theater her hands go out, forthe door has opened—and she sees her husband! Howie. There. Moving ashe always moved! She fights back the tears that would blur him. Thatdear familiar way he moves! It is almost as if she could step up andmeet him, and they could walk away together.

　　He starts to go the other way. Then he sees the dog. He goes up to him;he is speaking to him, wanting to know what is the matter. She canfairly hear the warmth and kindness of his voice as he speaks to thelittle dog. He feels of the muzzle—finds it too tight; he lets it out anotch. Dear Howie. Of course he would do that. No one else hadcared, but he would care. Then he speaks to the dog—pats him—tells himhe is all right now. Then Howie turns away.

　　But the dog thinks he will go with this nice person! Howie laughs andtells him he can't come. A little girl has come across the street. Howietells her to keep the dog from following him. Then again he turns to go.But just before he passes from sight the child calls something to him,and he looks back over his shoulder and smiles. She sees again the smilethat has been the heart of her life. Then he passes from sight.

　　And he always leaves friends behind him—just as he always did leavefriends behind him. There will be little murmurs of approval; sometimesthere is applause. Tonight a woman near Laura said, "Say, I bet that'san awful nice fellow."

　　She never left her seat at once, as if moving would break a spell. For alittle while after she had seen it, his smile would stay with her. Thenit would fade, as things fade in the motion pictures. Somehow she didn'treally have it. That was why she had to keep coming—constantlyreaching out for something that was not hers to keep.

　　When her moment had gone, she rose and walked down the aisle. It wasvery hard to go away tonight. There had been all the time the fear thatwhat happened the night before would happen again—that she would notsee Howie, after all. That made her so tense that she was exhausted now.And then "munitions"—and "scrap-heap." Perhaps it was because of allthis that tonight her moment had been so brief. Only for an instantHowie's smile had brought her into life. It was gone now. It had passed.

　　She was so worn that when, at the door, her brother Tom stepped up toher she was not much surprised or even angry. Tom had no business to befollowing her about. She had told him that she would have to manage ither own way—that he would have to let her alone. Now here he wasagain—to trouble her, to talk to her about being brave and sane—whenhe didn't know—when he didn't have any idea what he was talkingabout! But it didn't matter—not tonight. Let him do things—get thetickets—and all that. Even let him talk to her. That didn't mattereither.

　　But he talked very little. He seemed to think there was something wrongwith her. He looked at her and said, "O, Laura!" reproachfully, butdistressed.

　　"I thought you weren't going to do this any more, Laura," he saidgently, after they had walked a little way.

　　"How did you know I was here?" she asked listlessly.

　　"They sent me word you had left home. I traced you."

　　"I don't see why you should trace me," she said, but not as if itmattered.

　　"O, Laura!" he said again. "Well, I must say I don't think Mrs. Edmundswas much of a friend!"

　　It was Mrs. Edmunds who had told Laura that there was this glimpse ofher husband in "The Cross of Diamonds." She had hesitated about tellingher, but had finally said it was so characteristic and beautiful amoment she felt Laura should see it.

　　From the first Tom had opposed her seeing it, saying it would be nothingbut torture to her. Torture it was, but it was as if that torture wereall there was left of life.

　　Tonight everything was as a world of shadows. She knew that her brotherwas taking her to his home instead of back to her own. He had wanted todo this before, but she had refused. There was nothing in her now thatcould refuse. She went with him as if she were merely moving in apicture and had no power of her own to get out of it.

　　And that was the way it was through the next few weeks. Tom and his wifewould talk to her about trying to interest herself in life. She made noresistance, she had no argument against this; but she had no power to doit. They didn't know—they didn't know how it had been with her andHowie.

　　She herself had never been outgoing. It was perhaps a habit of reservebuilt out of timidity, but she had been a girl whose life did not have areal contact with other lives. Perhaps there were many people likethat—perhaps not; she did not know. She only knew that before Howiecame the life in her was more as a thing unto itself than a part of thelife of the world.

　　Then Howie came! Howie, who could get on with any one, who foundsomething to like in every one; and in the warmth and strength of hisfeeling for people he drew her into that main body of life where she hadnot been before. It had been like coming into the sunshine!

　　Now he was gone; and they asked her to be alone what she had beenthrough him. It was like telling one to go into the sunshine when thesun is not shining.

　　And the more these others tried to reach her, the more alone she felt,for it only made her know they could not reach her. When you have livedin the sunshine, days of cold mist may become more than you can bear.After a long struggle not to do so, she again went to the long-distancetelephone to find out where that picture was being shown—that pictureinto which was caught one moment of Howie's life as he moved through theworld.

　　Worn by the struggle not to do what she was doing, and tormented by thefear that she had waited too long, that this one thing which was left toher might no longer be, she had to put every bit of her strength intoestablishing this connection with the people who could tell her what shemust know. Establishing the connection with living was like this. Shewas far off and connected only by a tenuous thing which might any momentgo into confusion and stop.

　　At the other end some one was making fun of her. They doubted if "TheCross of Diamonds" could be seen anywhere at all. "The Cross ofDiamonds" had been double-crossed. Wasn't it too much of a cross,anyway, to see "The Cross of Diamonds"?

　　Finally another man came to the phone. "The Cross of Diamonds" could beseen at a certain town in Indiana. But she'd better hurry! And she'dbetter look her last look. Why did she want to see it—might he ask? ButLaura hung up the receiver. She must hurry!

　　All the rest of it was a blur and a hurry. Through the unreal confusiondrove the one idea—she must get there in time! And that whole life ofthe world seemed pitted against her—it was as if the whole of that mainbody of life was thrown in between her and Howie. The train was late. Itwas almost the hour for pictures to begin when she got down at thatlonely, far-away station. And the town, it seemed, was a mile from thestation! There was a bus she must take. Every nerve of her being washurrying that bus on—until that very anxiety made it seem it was Howiehimself she would see if only she could get there in time.

　　And being late, the downstairs at the theater was full. "Balcony only,"said a man as she came in. "Oh, won't you find me a good seat?" Laurabesought him. "Like to know how I'll find you a seat when there ain't noseat," was the answer—the whole big life of the world in between herand Howie!

　　Upstairs, too, it was hard to find a place. And all those people seatedthere—for them it meant only a few hours' silly entertainment!

　　But after a moment a man directed her to a seat. There was another placebeside it, and just as Laura was being seated a woman came along withtwo children. "We can't all sit together," she was saying, "so you justsit in here, Mamie. You sit right in here—beside the nice lady."

　　The mother looked at Laura, as if expecting her to welcome her child.Laura did nothing. She must be alone. She was there to be with Howie.

　　She was not as late as she had feared. There would be time for gettingready—getting ready for Howie! She knew this would be the last time shewould see Howie as he had moved through the world. For the last time shewould see his face light to a smile. If she did not reach him tonight,she would never reach him. She had a feeling that she could reach him,if only something in her—if only something in her—

　　She could not finish that; it brought her to a place into which shecould not reach, but as never before she had a feeling that he could bereached. And so when the little girl beside her twisted in her seat andshe knew that the child was looking up at her she tried not to know thislittle girl was there—tried not to know that any of those people werethere. If only she could get them all out of the way—she could reachinto the shadow and feel Howie near!

　　But there was one thing she kept knowing—try her best not to know it!The little girl beside her, too young to be there, was going to sleep.When it came right up to the moment for her to see Howie, she wasknowing that that little girl had fallen asleep in an uncomfortableposition. Her head had been resting on the side of the seat—the sidenext Laura—and as she fell asleep it slipped from its support in a waythat—Could she help it if this child was not comfortable? Angry, shetried to brush this from her consciousness as we brush dust from oureyes. This was her moment with Howie—her chance.

　　But when her moment came, a cruel thing happened. Something was wrongwith the machine that was showing the picture. At just that moment—ofall the moments!—the worn-out film seemed to be going to pieces beforeher eyes. After the little dog came along, and just as Howie should comeout from the cigar-store, there was a flash—a blur—a jumble ofmovements. It was like an earthquake—it looked like life ceasing to belife. "No!" she gasped under her breath. "No!" The people around herwere saying things of a different sort. "Cut it!" "What you givin' us?""Whoa, boy!" They laughed. They didn't care. It got a little better;she could make out Howie bending down to fix the dog's muzzle—but itwas all dancing crazily—and people were laughing. And then—then themiracle! It was on Howie's smile the picture steadied—that smile backover his shoulder after he had turned to go. And, as if to bring torights what had been wrong, the smile was held, and it was as if Howielingered, as if in leaving life he looked back over his shoulder andwaited—waited for his smile to reach Laura. Out of the jumble andblur—out of the wrong and meaningless—Howie's beautiful steady smilemaking it all right.

　　She could not have told how it happened. As Howie passed, she turned tothe little girl beside her whose head was without support and, notwaking her, supported the child's head against her own arm. And aftershe had done this—it was after she had done it that she began to know,as if doing it let down bars.

　　Now she was knowing. She had wanted to push people aside and reach intothe shadows for Howie. She began to see that it was not so she wouldreach him. It was in being as he had been—kind, caring—that she couldhave a sense of him near. Here was her chance—among the people she hadthought stood between her and her chance. Howie had always cared forthese people. On his way through the world with them he had alwaysstopped to do the kind thing—as he stopped to make it right for thebadly muzzled dog. Then there was something for her to do in theworld. She could do the kind things Howie would be doing if he werethere! It would somehow—keep him. It would—fulfill him. Yes, fulfillhim. Howie had made her more alive—warmer and kinder. If she became asshe had been before—Howie would have failed. She moved so that thelittle girl who rested against her could rest the better. And as she didthis—it was as if Howie had smiled. The one thing the picture had nevergiven her—the sense that it was hers to keep—that stole through hernow as the things come which we know we can never lose. For the firstmoment since she lost him, she had him. And all the people in thattheater, and all the people in the world—here was the truth! Itcleared and righted as Howie's smile had righted the picture. In so faras she could come close to others she would come closer to him.