CHAPTER XX

by Sinclair Lewis

　　ITHE baby was coming. Each morning she was nauseated, chilly, bedraggled,and certain that she would never again be attractive; each twilightshe was afraid. She did not feel exalted, but unkempt and furious. Theperiod of daily sickness crawled into an endless time of boredom. Itbecame difficult for her to move about, and she raged that she, whohad been slim and light-footed, should have to lean on a stick, and beheartily commented upon by street gossips. She was encircled by greasyeyes. Every matron hinted, "Now that you're going to be a mother,dearie, you'll get over all these ideas of yours and settle down."She felt that willy-nilly she was being initiated into the assemblyof housekeepers; with the baby for hostage, she would never escape;presently she would be drinking coffee and rocking and talking aboutdiapers."I could stand fighting them. I'm used to that. But this being taken in,being taken as a matter of course, I can't stand it--and I must standit!"She alternately detested herself for not appreciating the kindly women,and detested them for their advice: lugubrious hints as to how much shewould suffer in labor, details of baby-hygiene based on long experienceand total misunderstanding, superstitious cautions about the things shemust eat and read and look at in prenatal care for the baby's soul, andalways a pest of simpering baby-talk. Mrs. Champ Perry bustled in tolend "Ben Hur," as a preventive of future infant immorality. The WidowBogart appeared trailing pinkish exclamations, "And how is our lovely'ittle muzzy today! My, ain't it just like they always say: being ina Family Way does make the girlie so lovely, just like a Madonna. Tellme--" Her whisper was tinged with salaciousness--"does oo feel the dearitsy one stirring, the pledge of love? I remember with Cy, of course hewas so big----""I do not look lovely, Mrs. Bogart. My complexion is rotten, and my hairis coming out, and I look like a potato-bag, and I think my arches arefalling, and he isn't a pledge of love, and I'm afraid he WILL look likeus, and I don't believe in mother-devotion, and the whole business is aconfounded nuisance of a biological process," remarked Carol.Then the baby was born, without unusual difficulty: a boy with straightback and strong legs. The first day she hated him for the tides of painand hopeless fear he had caused; she resented his raw ugliness. Afterthat she loved him with all the devotion and instinct at which shehad scoffed. She marveled at the perfection of the miniature hands asnoisily as did Kennicott, she was overwhelmed by the trust withwhich the baby turned to her; passion for him grew with each unpoeticirritating thing she had to do for him.He was named Hugh, for her father.Hugh developed into a thin healthy child with a large head and straightdelicate hair of a faint brown. He was thoughtful and casual--aKennicott.For two years nothing else existed. She did not, as the cynical matronshad prophesied, "give up worrying about the world and other folks'babies soon as she got one of her own to fight for." The barbarity ofthat willingness to sacrifice other children so that one child mighthave too much was impossible to her. But she would sacrifice herself.She understood consecration--she who answered Kennicott's hints abouthaving Hugh christened: "I refuse to insult my baby and myself by askingan ignorant young man in a frock coat to sanction him, to permit meto have him! I refuse to subject him to any devil-chasing rites! If Ididn't give my baby--MY BABY--enough sanctification in those nine hoursof hell, then he can't get any more out of the Reverend Mr. Zitterel!""Well, Baptists hardly ever christen kids. I was kind of thinking moreabout Reverend Warren," said Kennicott.Hugh was her reason for living, promise of accomplishment in the future,shrine of adoration--and a diverting toy. "I thought I'd be a dilettantemother, but I'm as dismayingly natural as Mrs. Bogart," she boasted.For two--years Carol was a part of the town; as much one of Our YoungMothers as Mrs. McGanum. Her opinionation seemed dead; she had noapparent desire for escape; her brooding centered on Hugh. While shewondered at the pearl texture of his ear she exulted, "I feel like anold woman, with a skin like sandpaper, beside him, and I'm glad of it!He is perfect. He shall have everything. He sha'n't always stay here inGopher Prairie. . . . I wonder which is really the best, Harvard or Yaleor Oxford?"IIThe people who hemmed her in had been brilliantly reinforced by Mr. andMrs. Whittier N. Smail--Kennicott's Uncle Whittier and Aunt Bessie.The true Main Streetite defines a relative as a person to whose houseyou go uninvited, to stay as long as you like. If you hear that Lym Casson his journey East has spent all his time "visiting" in Oyster Center,it does not mean that he prefers that village to the rest of NewEngland, but that he has relatives there. It does not mean that he haswritten to the relatives these many years, nor that they have ever givensigns of a desire to look upon him. But "you wouldn't expect a man togo and spend good money at a hotel in Boston, when his own third cousinslive right in the same state, would you?"When the Smails sold their creamery in North Dakota they visited Mr.Smail's sister, Kennicott's mother, at Lac-qui-Meurt, then plodded onto Gopher Prairie to stay with their nephew. They appeared unannounced,before the baby was born, took their welcome for granted, andimmediately began to complain of the fact that their room faced north.Uncle Whittier and Aunt Bessie assumed that it was their privilege asrelatives to laugh at Carol, and their duty as Christians to let herknow how absurd her "notions" were. They objected to the food, toOscarina's lack of friendliness, to the wind, the rain, and theimmodesty of Carol's maternity gowns. They were strong and enduring; foran hour at a time they could go on heaving questions about her father'sincome, about her theology, and about the reason why she had not put onher rubbers when she had gone across the street. For fussy discussionthey had a rich, full genius, and their example developed in Kennicott atendency to the same form of affectionate flaying.If Carol was so indiscreet as to murmur that she had a small headache,instantly the two Smails and Kennicott were at it. Every five minutes,every time she sat down or rose or spoke to Oscarina, they twanged, "Isyour head better now? Where does it hurt? Don't you keep hartshorn inthe house? Didn't you walk too far today? Have you tried hartshorn?Don't you keep some in the house so it will be handy? Does it feelbetter now? How does it feel? Do your eyes hurt, too? What time do youusually get to bed? As late as THAT? Well! How does it feel now?"In her presence Uncle Whittier snorted at Kennicott, "Carol get theseheadaches often? Huh? Be better for her if she didn't go gadding aroundto all these bridge-whist parties, and took some care of herself once ina while!"They kept it up, commenting, questioning, commenting, questioning,till her determination broke and she bleated, "For heaven's SAKE, don'tdis-CUSS it! My head 's all RIGHT!"She listened to the Smails and Kennicott trying to determine bydialectics whether the copy of the Dauntless, which Aunt Bessie wantedto send to her sister in Alberta, ought to have two or four centspostage on it. Carol would have taken it to the drug store and weighedit, but then she was a dreamer, while they were practical people (asthey frequently admitted). So they sought to evolve the postal rate fromtheir inner consciousnesses, which, combined with entire frankness inthinking aloud, was their method of settling all problems.The Smails did not "believe in all this nonsense" about privacy andreticence. When Carol left a letter from her sister on the table, shewas astounded to hear from Uncle Whittier, "I see your sister says herhusband is doing fine. You ought to go see her oftener. I asked Willand he says you don't go see her very often. My! You ought to go see heroftener!"If Carol was writing a letter to a classmate, or planning the week'smenus, she could be certain that Aunt Bessie would pop in and titter,"Now don't let me disturb you, I just wanted to see where you were,don't stop, I'm not going to stay only a second. I just wondered ifyou could possibly have thought that I didn't eat the onions this noonbecause I didn't think they were properly cooked, but that wasn't thereason at all, it wasn't because I didn't think they were well cooked,I'm sure that everything in your house is always very dainty and nice,though I do think that Oscarina is careless about some things, shedoesn't appreciate the big wages you pay her, and she is so cranky, allthese Swedes are so cranky, I don't really see why you have a Swede,but----But that wasn't it, I didn't eat them not because I didn't thinkthey weren't cooked proper, it was just--I find that onions don't agreewith me, it's very strange, ever since I had an attack of biliousnessone time, I have found that onions, either fried onions or raw ones, andWhittier does love raw onions with vinegar and sugar on them----"It was pure affection.Carol was discovering that the one thing that can be more disconcertingthan intelligent hatred is demanding love.She supposed that she was being gracefully dull and standardized inthe Smails' presence, but they scented the heretic, and withforward-stooping delight they sat and tried to drag out her ludicrousconcepts for their amusement. They were like the Sunday-afternoon mobstarting at monkeys in the Zoo, poking fingers and making faces andgiggling at the resentment of the more dignified race.With a loose-lipped, superior, village smile Uncle Whittier hinted,"What's this I hear about your thinking Gopher Prairie ought to beall tore down and rebuilt, Carrie? I don't know where folks get thesenew-fangled ideas. Lots of farmers in Dakota getting 'em these days.About co-operation. Think they can run stores better 'n storekeepers!Huh!""Whit and I didn't need no co-operation as long as we was farming!"triumphed Aunt Bessie. "Carrie, tell your old auntie now: don't you evergo to church on Sunday? You do go sometimes? But you ought to go everySunday! When you're as old as I am, you'll learn that no matter howsmart folks think they are, God knows a whole lot more than they do, andthen you'll realize and be glad to go and listen to your pastor!"In the manner of one who has just beheld a two-headed calf they repeatedthat they had "never HEARD such funny ideas!" They were staggered tolearn that a real tangible person, living in Minnesota, and marriedto their own flesh-and-blood relation, could apparently believe thatdivorce may not always be immoral; that illegitimate children do notbear any special and guaranteed form of curse; that there are ethicalauthorities outside of the Hebrew Bible; that men have drunk wine yetnot died in the gutter; that the capitalistic system of distribution andthe Baptist wedding-ceremony were not known in the Garden of Eden; thatmushrooms are as edible as corn-beef hash; that the word "dude" isno longer frequently used; that there are Ministers of the Gospelwho accept evolution; that some persons of apparent intelligence andbusiness ability do not always vote the Republican ticket straight; thatit is not a universal custom to wear scratchy flannels next the skinin winter; that a violin is not inherently more immoral than a chapelorgan; that some poets do not have long hair; and that Jews are notalways pedlers or pants-makers."Where does she get all them the'ries?" marveled Uncle Whittier Smail;while Aunt Bessie inquired, "Do you suppose there's many folks gotnotions like hers? My! If there are," and her tone settled the fact thatthere were not, "I just don't know what the world's coming to!"Patiently--more or less--Carol awaited the exquisite day when they wouldannounce departure. After three weeks Uncle Whittier remarked, "We kindalike Gopher Prairie. Guess maybe we'll stay here. We'd been wonderingwhat we'd do, now we've sold the creamery and my farms. So I had a talkwith Ole Jenson about his grocery, and I guess I'll buy him out andstorekeep for a while."He did.Carol rebelled. Kennicott soothed her: "Oh, we won't see much of them.They'll have their own house."She resolved to be so chilly that they would stay away. But she had notalent for conscious insolence. They found a house, but Carol was neversafe from their appearance with a hearty, "Thought we'd drop in thisevening and keep you from being lonely. Why, you ain't had them curtainswashed yet!" Invariably, whenever she was touched by the realizationthat it was they who were lonely, they wrecked her pitying affection bycomments--questions--comments--advice.They immediately became friendly with all of their own race, with theLuke Dawsons, the Deacon Piersons, and Mrs. Bogart; and brought themalong in the evening. Aunt Bessie was a bridge over whom the olderwomen, bearing gifts of counsel and the ignorance of experience, pouredinto Carol's island of reserve. Aunt Bessie urged the good Widow Bogart,"Drop in and see Carrie real often. Young folks today don't understandhousekeeping like we do."Mrs. Bogart showed herself perfectly willing to be an associaterelative.Carol was thinking up protective insults when Kennicott's mother camedown to stay with Brother Whittier for two months. Carol was fond ofMrs. Kennicott. She could not carry out her insults.She felt trapped.She had been kidnaped by the town. She was Aunt Bessie's niece, and shewas to be a mother. She was expected, she almost expected herself, tosit forever talking of babies, cooks, embroidery stitches, the price ofpotatoes, and the tastes of husbands in the matter of spinach.She found a refuge in the Jolly Seventeen. She suddenly understood thatthey could be depended upon to laugh with her at Mrs. Bogart, and shenow saw Juanita Haydock's gossip not as vulgarity but as gaiety andremarkable analysis.Her life had changed, even before Hugh appeared. She looked forward tothe next bridge of the Jolly Seventeen, and the security of whisperingwith her dear friends Maud Dyer and Juanita and Mrs. McGanum.She was part of the town. Its philosophy and its feuds dominated her.IIIShe was no longer irritated by the cooing of the matrons, nor by theiropinion that diet didn't matter so long as the Little Ones had plenty oflace and moist kisses, but she concluded that in the care of babies asin politics, intelligence was superior to quotations about pansies. Sheliked best to talk about Hugh to Kennicott, Vida, and the Bjornstams.She was happily domestic when Kennicott sat by her on the floor, towatch baby make faces. She was delighted when Miles, speaking as one manto another, admonished Hugh, "I wouldn't stand them skirts if I was you.Come on. Join the union and strike. Make 'em give you pants."As a parent, Kennicott was moved to establish the first child-welfareweek held in Gopher Prairie. Carol helped him weigh babies andexamine their throats, and she wrote out the diets for mute German andScandinavian mothers.The aristocracy of Gopher Prairie, even the wives of the rival doctors,took part, and for several days there was community spirit and muchuplift. But this reign of love was overthrown when the prize for BestBaby was awarded not to decent parents but to Bea and Miles Bjornstam!The good matrons glared at Olaf Bjornstam, with his blue eyes, hishoney-colored hair, and magnificent back, and they remarked, "Well, Mrs.Kennicott, maybe that Swede brat is as healthy as your husband says heis, but let me tell you I hate to think of the future that awaits anyboy with a hired girl for a mother and an awful irreligious socialistfor a pa!"She raged, but so violent was the current of their respectability, sopersistent was Aunt Bessie in running to her with their blabber, thatshe was embarrassed when she took Hugh to play with Olaf. She hatedherself for it, but she hoped that no one saw her go into the Bjornstamshanty. She hated herself and the town's indifferent cruelty when shesaw Bea's radiant devotion to both babies alike; when she saw Milesstaring at them wistfully.He had saved money, had quit Elder's planing-mill and started a dairyon a vacant lot near his shack. He was proud of his three cows and sixtychickens, and got up nights to nurse them."I'll be a big farmer before you can bat an eye! I tell you that youngfellow Olaf is going to go East to college along with the Haydock kids.Uh----Lots of folks dropping in to chin with Bea and me now. Say! MaBogart come in one day! She was----I liked the old lady fine. And themill foreman comes in right along. Oh, we got lots of friends. You bet!"IVThough the town seemed to Carol to change no more than the surroundingfields, there was a constant shifting, these three years. The citizen ofthe prairie drifts always westward. It may be because he is the heir ofancient migrations--and it may be because he finds within his ownspirit so little adventure that he is driven to seek it by changing hishorizon. The towns remain unvaried, yet the individual faces alterlike classes in college. The Gopher Prairie jeweler sells out, for nodiscernible reason, and moves on to Alberta or the state of Washington,to open a shop precisely like his former one, in a town precisely likethe one he has left. There is, except among professional men and thewealthy, small permanence either of residence or occupation. A manbecomes farmer, grocer, town policeman, garageman, restaurant-owner,postmaster, insurance-agent, and farmer all over again, and thecommunity more or less patiently suffers from his lack of knowledge ineach of his experiments.Ole Jenson the grocer and Dahl the butcher moved on to South Dakotaand Idaho. Luke and Mrs. Dawson picked up ten thousand acres of prairiesoil, in the magic portable form of a small check book, and went toPasadena, to a bungalow and sunshine and cafeterias. Chet Dashaway soldhis furniture and undertaking business and wandered to Los Angeles,where, the Dauntless reported, "Our good friend Chester has accepted afine position with a real-estate firm, and his wife has in the charmingsocial circles of the Queen City of the Southwestland that samepopularity which she enjoyed in our own society sets."Rita Simons was married to Terry Gould, and rivaled Juanita Haydock asthe gayest of the Young Married Set. But Juanita also acquired merit.Harry's father died, Harry became senior partner in the Bon Ton Store,and Juanita was more acidulous and shrewd and cackling than ever. Shebought an evening frock, and exposed her collar-bone to the wonder ofthe Jolly Seventeen, and talked of moving to Minneapolis.To defend her position against the new Mrs. Terry Gould she sought toattach Carol to her faction by giggling that "SOME folks might call Ritainnocent, but I've got a hunch that she isn't half as ignorant of thingsas brides are supposed to be--and of course Terry isn't one-two-three asa doctor alongside of your husband."Carol herself would gladly have followed Mr. Ole Jenson, and migratedeven to another Main Street; flight from familiar tedium to new tediumwould have for a time the outer look and promise of adventure. Shehinted to Kennicott of the probable medical advantages of Montana andOregon. She knew that he was satisfied with Gopher Prairie, but it gaveher vicarious hope to think of going, to ask for railroad folders at thestation, to trace the maps with a restless forefinger.Yet to the casual eye she was not discontented, she was not an abnormaland distressing traitor to the faith of Main Street.The settled citizen believes that the rebel is constantly in a stew ofcomplaining and, hearing of a Carol Kennicott, he gasps, "What anawful person! She must be a Holy Terror to live with! Glad MY folks aresatisfied with things way they are!" Actually, it was not so much asfive minutes a day that Carol devoted to lonely desires. It isprobable that the agitated citizen has within his circle at least oneinarticulate rebel with aspirations as wayward as Carol's.The presence of the baby had made her take Gopher Prairie and the brownhouse seriously, as natural places of residence. She pleased Kennicottby being friendly with the complacent maturity of Mrs. Clark and Mrs.Elder, and when she had often enough been in conference upon the Elders'new Cadillac car, or the job which the oldest Clark boy had taken inthe office of the flour-mill, these topics became important, things tofollow up day by day.With nine-tenths of her emotion concentrated upon Hugh, she did notcriticize shops, streets, acquaintances . . . this year or two. Shehurried to Uncle Whittier's store for a package of corn-flakes, sheabstractedly listened to Uncle Whittier's denunciation of MartinMahoney for asserting that the wind last Tuesday had been south and notsouthwest, she came back along streets that held no surprises nor thestartling faces of strangers. Thinking of Hugh's teething all the way,she did not reflect that this store, these drab blocks, made up all herbackground. She did her work, and she triumphed over winning from theClarks at five hundred.The most considerable event of the two years after the birth of Hughoccurred when Vida Sherwin resigned from the high school and wasmarried. Carol was her attendant, and as the wedding was at theEpiscopal Church, all the women wore new kid slippers and long white kidgloves, and looked refined.For years Carol had been little sister to Vida, and had never in theleast known to what degree Vida loved her and hated her and in curiousstrained ways was bound to her.