CHAPTER XXX

by Sinclair Lewis

　　FERN Mullins rushed into the house on a Saturday morning early inSeptember and shrieked at Carol, "School starts next Tuesday. I've gotto have one more spree before I'm arrested. Let's get up a picnic downthe lake for this afternoon. Won't you come, Mrs. Kennicott, and thedoctor? Cy Bogart wants to go--he's a brat but he's lively.""I don't think the doctor can go," sedately. "He said something abouthaving to make a country call this afternoon. But I'd love to.""That's dandy! Who can we get?""Mrs. Dyer might be chaperon. She's been so nice. And maybe Dave, if hecould get away from the store.""How about Erik Valborg? I think he's got lots more style than thesetown boys. You like him all right, don't you?"So the picnic of Carol, Fern, Erik, Cy Bogart, and the Dyers was notonly moral but inevitable.They drove to the birch grove on the south shore of Lake Minniemashie.Dave Dyer was his most clownish self. He yelped, jigged, wore Carol'shat, dropped an ant down Fern's back, and when they went swimming (thewomen modestly changing in the car with the side curtains up, the menundressing behind the bushes, constantly repeating, "Gee, hope we don'trun into poison ivy"), Dave splashed water on them and dived to clutchhis wife's ankle. He infected the others. Erik gave an imitation ofthe Greek dancers he had seen in vaudeville, and when they sat down topicnic supper spread on a lap-robe on the grass, Cy climbed a tree tothrow acorns at them.But Carol could not frolic.She had made herself young, with parted hair, sailor blouse and largeblue bow, white canvas shoes and short linen skirt. Her mirror hadasserted that she looked exactly as she had in college, that her throatwas smooth, her collar-bone not very noticeable. But she was underrestraint. When they swam she enjoyed the freshness of the water butshe was irritated by Cy's tricks, by Dave's excessive good spirits. Sheadmired Erik's dance; he could never betray bad taste, as Cy did,and Dave. She waited for him to come to her. He did not come. By hisjoyousness he had apparently endeared himself to the Dyers. Maud watchedhim and, after supper, cried to him, "Come sit down beside me, bad boy!"Carol winced at his willingness to be a bad boy and come and sit, athis enjoyment of a not very stimulating game in which Maud, Dave, andCy snatched slices of cold tongue from one another's plates. Maud, itseemed, was slightly dizzy from the swim. She remarked publicly, "Dr.Kennicott has helped me so much by putting me on a diet," but it wasto Erik alone that she gave the complete version of her peculiarity inbeing so sensitive, so easily hurt by the slightest cross word, that shesimply had to have nice cheery friends.Erik was nice and cheery.Carol assured herself, "Whatever faults I may have, I certainly couldn'tever be jealous. I do like Maud; she's always so pleasant. But I wonderif she isn't just a bit fond of fishing for men's sympathy? Playingwith Erik, and her married----Well----But she looks at him in thatlanguishing, swooning, mid-Victorian way. Disgusting!"Cy Bogart lay between the roots of a big birch, smoking his pipe andteasing Fern, assuring her that a week from now, when he was again ahigh-school boy and she his teacher, he'd wink at her in class. MaudDyer wanted Erik to "come down to the beach to see the darling littleminnies." Carol was left to Dave, who tried to entertain her withhumorous accounts of Ella Stowbody's fondness for chocolate peppermints.She watched Maud Dyer put her hand on Erik's shoulder to steady herself."Disgusting!" she thought.Cy Bogart covered Fern's nervous hand with his red paw, and when shebounced with half-anger and shrieked, "Let go, I tell you!" he grinnedand waved his pipe--a gangling twenty-year-old satyr."Disgusting!"When Maud and Erik returned and the grouping shifted, Erik muttered atCarol, "There's a boat on shore. Let's skip off and have a row.""What will they think?" she worried. She saw Maud Dyer peer at Erik withmoist possessive eyes. "Yes! Let's!" she said.She cried to the party, with the canonical amount of sprightliness,"Good-by, everybody. We'll wireless you from China."As the rhythmic oars plopped and creaked, as she floated on an unrealityof delicate gray over which the sunset was poured out thin, theirritation of Cy and Maud slipped away. Erik smiled at her proudly. Sheconsidered him--coatless, in white thin shirt. She was conscious of hismale differentness, of his flat masculine sides, his thin thighs, hiseasy rowing. They talked of the library, of the movies. He hummed andshe softly sang "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot." A breeze shivered across theagate lake. The wrinkled water was like armor damascened and polished.The breeze flowed round the boat in a chill current. Carol drew thecollar of her middy blouse over her bare throat."Getting cold. Afraid we'll have to go back," she said."Let's not go back to them yet. They'll be cutting up. Let's keep alongthe shore.""But you enjoy the 'cutting up!' Maud and you had a beautiful time.""Why! We just walked on the shore and talked about fishing!"She was relieved, and apologetic to her friend Maud. "Of course. I wasjoking.""I'll tell you! Let's land here and sit on the shore--that bunch ofhazel-brush will shelter us from the wind--and watch the sunset. It'slike melted lead. Just a short while! We don't want to go back andlisten to them!""No, but----" She said nothing while he sped ashore. The keel clashedon the stones. He stood on the forward seat, holding out his hand.They were alone, in the ripple-lapping silence. She rose slowly, slowlystepped over the water in the bottom of the old boat. She took his handconfidently. Unspeaking they sat on a bleached log, in a russet twilightwhich hinted of autumn. Linden leaves fluttered about them."I wish----Are you cold now?" he whispered."A little." She shivered. But it was not with cold."I wish we could curl up in the leaves there, covered all up, and lielooking out at the dark.""I wish we could." As though it was comfortably understood that he didnot mean to be taken seriously."Like what all the poets say--brown nymph and faun.""No. I can't be a nymph any more. Too old----Erik, am I old? Am I fadedand small-towny?""Why, you're the youngest----Your eyes are like a girl's. They'reso--well, I mean, like you believed everything. Even if you do teachme, I feel a thousand years older than you, instead of maybe a yearyounger.""Four or five years younger!""Anyway, your eyes are so innocent and your cheeks so soft----Damn it,it makes me want to cry, somehow, you're so defenseless; and I want toprotect you and----There's nothing to protect you against!""Am I young? Am I? Honestly? Truly?" She betrayed for a moment thechildish, mock-imploring tone that comes into the voice of the mostserious woman when an agreeable man treats her as a girl; the childishtone and childish pursed-up lips and shy lift of the cheek."Yes, you are!""You're dear to believe it, Will--ERIK!""Will you play with me? A lot?""Perhaps.""Would you really like to curl in the leaves and watch the stars swingby overhead?""I think it's rather better to be sitting here!" He twined his fingerswith hers. "And Erik, we must go back.""Why?""It's somewhat late to outline all the history of social custom!""I know. We must. Are you glad we ran away though?""Yes." She was quiet, perfectly simple. But she rose.He circled her waist with a brusque arm. She did not resist. She didnot care. He was neither a peasant tailor, a potential artist, asocial complication, nor a peril. He was himself, and in him, in thepersonality flowing from him, she was unreasoningly content. In hisnearness she caught a new view of his head; the last light brought outthe planes of his neck, his flat ruddied cheeks, the side of his nose,the depression of his temples. Not as coy or uneasy lovers but ascompanions they walked to the boat, and he lifted her up on the prow.She began to talk intently, as he rowed: "Erik, you've got to work! Youought to be a personage. You're robbed of your kingdom. Fight for it!Take one of these correspondence courses in drawing--they mayn't be anygood in themselves, but they'll make you try to draw and----"As they reached the picnic ground she perceived that it was dark, thatthey had been gone for a long time."What will they say?" she wondered.The others greeted them with the inevitable storm of humor and slightvexation: "Where the deuce do you think you've been?" "You're a finepair, you are!" Erik and Carol looked self-conscious; failed in theireffort to be witty. All the way home Carol was embarrassed. Once Cywinked at her. That Cy, the Peeping Tom of the garage-loft, shouldconsider her a fellow-sinner----She was furious and frightened andexultant by turns, and in all her moods certain that Kennicott wouldread her adventuring in her face.She came into the house awkwardly defiant.Her husband, half asleep under the lamp, greeted her, "Well, well, havenice time?"She could not answer. He looked at her. But his look did not sharpen.He began to wind his watch, yawning the old "Welllllll, guess it's abouttime to turn in."That was all. Yet she was not glad. She was almost disappointed.IIMrs. Bogart called next day. She had a hen-like, crumb-pecking, diligentappearance. Her smile was too innocent. The pecking started instantly:"Cy says you had lots of fun at the picnic yesterday. Did you enjoy it?""Oh yes. I raced Cy at swimming. He beat me badly. He's so strong, isn'the!""Poor boy, just crazy to get into the war, too, but----This Erik Valborgwas along, wa'n't he?""Yes.""I think he's an awful handsome fellow, and they say he's smart. Do youlike him?""He seems very polite.""Cy says you and him had a lovely boat-ride. My, that must have beenpleasant.""Yes, except that I couldn't get Mr. Valborg to say a word. I wantedto ask him about the suit Mr. Hicks is making for my husband. But heinsisted on singing. Still, it was restful, floating around on the waterand singing. So happy and innocent. Don't you think it's a shame, Mrs.Bogart, that people in this town don't do more nice clean things likethat, instead of all this horrible gossiping?""Yes. . . . Yes."Mrs. Bogart sounded vacant. Her bonnet was awry; she was incomparablydowdy. Carol stared at her, felt contemptuous, ready at last to rebelagainst the trap, and as the rusty goodwife fished again, "Plannin' somemore picnics?" she flung out, "I haven't the slightest idea! Oh. Is thatHugh crying? I must run up to him."But up-stairs she remembered that Mrs. Bogart had seen her walkingwith Erik from the railroad track into town, and she was chilly withdisquietude.At the Jolly Seventeen, two days after, she was effusive to Maud Dyer,to Juanita Haydock. She fancied that every one was watching her, butshe could not be sure, and in rare strong moments she did not care.She could rebel against the town's prying now that she had something,however indistinct, for which to rebel.In a passionate escape there must be not only a place from which to fleebut a place to which to flee. She had known that she would gladly leaveGopher Prairie, leave Main Street and all that it signified, but shehad had no destination. She had one now. That destination was not ErikValborg and the love of Erik. She continued to assure herself that shewasn't in love with him but merely "fond of him, and interested in hissuccess." Yet in him she had discovered both her need of youth and thefact that youth would welcome her. It was not Erik to whom she mustescape, but universal and joyous youth, in class-rooms, in studios, inoffices, in meetings to protest against Things in General. . . . Butuniversal and joyous youth rather resembled Erik.All week she thought of things she wished to say to him. High, improvingthings. She began to admit that she was lonely without him. Then she wasafraid.It was at the Baptist church supper, a week after the picnic, thatshe saw him again. She had gone with Kennicott and Aunt Bessie to thesupper, which was spread on oilcloth-covered and trestle-supportedtables in the church basement. Erik was helping Myrtle Cass to fillcoffee cups for the wait-resses. The congregation had doffed theirpiety. Children tumbled under the tables, and Deacon Pierson greeted thewomen with a rolling, "Where's Brother Jones, sister, where's BrotherJones? Not going to be with us tonight? Well, you tell Sister Perry tohand you a plate, and make 'em give you enough oyster pie!"Erik shared in the cheerfulness. He laughed with Myrtle, jogged herelbow when she was filling cups, made deep mock bows to the waitressesas they came up for coffee. Myrtle was enchanted by his humor. From theother end of the room, a matron among matrons, Carol observedMyrtle, and hated her, and caught herself at it. "To be jealous ofa wooden-faced village girl!" But she kept it up. She detested Erik;gloated over his gaucheries--his "breaks," she called them. When hewas too expressive, too much like a Russian dancer, in saluting DeaconPierson, Carol had the ecstasy of pain in seeing the deacon's sneer.When, trying to talk to three girls at once, he dropped a cup andeffeminately wailed, "Oh dear!" she sympathized with--and achedover--the insulting secret glances of the girls.From meanly hating him she rose to compassion as she saw that his eyesbegged every one to like him. She perceived how inaccurate her judgmentscould be. At the picnic she had fancied that Maud Dyer looked upon Eriktoo sentimentally, and she had snarled, "I hate these married women whocheapen themselves and feed on boys." But at the supper Maud was one ofthe waitresses; she bustled with platters of cake, she was pleasant toold women; and to Erik she gave no attention at all. Indeed, when shehad her own supper, she joined the Kennicotts, and how ludicrous it wasto suppose that Maud was a gourmet of emotions Carol saw in the factthat she talked not to one of the town beaux but to the safe Kennicotthimself!When Carol glanced at Erik again she discovered that Mrs. Bogart hadan eye on her. It was a shock to know that at last there was somethingwhich could make her afraid of Mrs. Bogart's spying."What am I doing? Am I in love with Erik? Unfaithful? I? I want youthbut I don't want him--I mean, I don't want youth--enough to break up mylife. I must get out of this. Quick."She said to Kennicott on their way home, "Will! I want to run away for afew days. Wouldn't you like to skip down to Chicago?""Still be pretty hot there. No fun in a big city till winter. What doyou want to go for?""People! To occupy my mind. I want stimulus.""Stimulus?" He spoke good-naturedly. "Who's been feeding you meat? Yougot that 'stimulus' out of one of these fool stories about wives thatdon't know when they're well off. Stimulus! Seriously, though, to cutout the jollying, I can't get away.""Then why don't I run off by myself?""Why----'Tisn't the money, you understand. But what about Hugh?""Leave him with Aunt Bessie. It would be just for a few days.""I don't think much of this business of leaving kids around. Bad for'em.""So you don't think----""I'll tell you: I think we better stay put till after the war. Thenwe'll have a dandy long trip. No, I don't think you better plan muchabout going away now."So she was thrown at Erik.IIIShe awoke at ebb-time, at three of the morning, woke sharply and fully;and sharply and coldly as her father pronouncing sentence on a cruelswindler she gave judgment:"A pitiful and tawdry love-affair."No splendor, no defiance. A self-deceived little woman whispering incorners with a pretentious little man."No, he is not. He is fine. Aspiring. It's not his fault. His eyes aresweet when he looks at me. Sweet, so sweet."She pitied herself that her romance should be pitiful; she sighed thatin this colorless hour, to this austere self, it should seem tawdry.Then, in a very great desire of rebellion and unleashing of all herhatreds, "The pettier and more tawdry it is, the more blame to MainStreet. It shows how much I've been longing to escape. Any way out! Anyhumility so long as I can flee. Main Street has done this to me. I camehere eager for nobilities, ready for work, and now----Any way out."I came trusting them. They beat me with rods of dullness. They don'tknow, they don't understand how agonizing their complacent dullness is.Like ants and August sun on a wound."Tawdry! Pitiful! Carol--the clean girl that used to walk sofast!--sneaking and tittering in dark corners, being sentimental andjealous at church suppers!"At breakfast-time her agonies were night-blurred, and persisted only asa nervous irresolution.IVFew of the aristocrats of the Jolly Seventeen attended the humblefolk-meets of the Baptist and Methodist church suppers, where the WillisWoodfords, the Dillons, the Champ Perrys, Oleson the butcher, Brad Bemisthe tinsmith, and Deacon Pierson found release from loneliness. But allof the smart set went to the lawn-festivals of the Episcopal Church, andwere reprovingly polite to outsiders.The Harry Haydocks gave the last lawn-festival of the season; a splendorof Japanese lanterns and card-tables and chicken patties and Neapolitanice-cream. Erik was no longer entirely an outsider. He was eating hisice-cream with a group of the people most solidly "in"--the Dyers,Myrtle Cass, Guy Pollock, the Jackson Elders. The Haydocks themselveskept aloof, but the others tolerated him. He would never, Carol fancied,be one of the town pillars, because he was not orthodox in hunting andmotoring and poker. But he was winning approbation by his liveliness,his gaiety--the qualities least important in him.When the group summoned Carol she made several very well-taken points inregard to the weather.Myrtle cried to Erik, "Come on! We don't belong with these old folks.I want to make you 'quainted with the jolliest girl, she comes fromWakamin, she's staying with Mary Howland."Carol saw him being profuse to the guest from Wakamin. She saw himconfidentially strolling with Myrtle. She burst out to Mrs. Westlake,"Valborg and Myrtle seem to have quite a crush on each other."Mrs. Westlake glanced at her curiously before she mumbled, "Yes, don'tthey.""I'm mad, to talk this way," Carol worried.She had regained a feeling of social virtue by telling Juanita Haydock"how darling her lawn looked with the Japanese lanterns" when she sawthat Erik was stalking her. Though he was merely ambling about with hishands in his pockets, though he did not peep at her, she knew that hewas calling her. She sidled away from Juanita. Erik hastened to her. Shenodded coolly (she was proud of her coolness)."Carol! I've got a wonderful chance! Don't know but what some waysit might be better than going East to take art. Myrtle Cass says----Idropped in to say howdy to Myrtle last evening, and had quite a longtalk with her father, and he said he was hunting for a fellow to go towork in the flour mill and learn the whole business, and maybe becomegeneral manager. I know something about wheat from my farming, and Iworked a couple of months in the flour mill at Curlew when I got sick oftailoring. What do you think? You said any work was artistic if it wasdone by an artist. And flour is so important. What do you think?""Wait! Wait!"This sensitive boy would be very skilfully stamped into conformity byLyman Cass and his sallow daughter; but did she detest the plan for thisreason? "I must be honest. I mustn't tamper with his future to please myvanity." But she had no sure vision. She turned on him:"How can I decide? It's up to you. Do you want to become a person likeLym Cass, or do you want to become a person like--yes, like me! Wait!Don't be flattering. Be honest. This is important.""I know. I am a person like you now! I mean, I want to rebel.""Yes. We're alike," gravely."Only I'm not sure I can put through my schemes. I really can't drawmuch. I guess I have pretty fair taste in fabrics, but since I've knownyou I don't like to think about fussing with dress-designing. But as amiller, I'd have the means--books, piano, travel.""I'm going to be frank and beastly. Don't you realize that it isn't justbecause her papa needs a bright young man in the mill that Myrtle isamiable to you? Can't you understand what she'll do to you when she hasyou, when she sends you to church and makes you become respectable?"He glared at her. "I don't know. I suppose so.""You are thoroughly unstable!""What if I am? Most fish out of water are! Don't talk like Mrs. Bogart!How can I be anything but 'unstable'--wandering from farm to tailorshop to books, no training, nothing but trying to make books talk tome! Probably I'll fail. Oh, I know it; probably I'm uneven. But I'm notunstable in thinking about this job in the mill--and Myrtle. I know whatI want. I want you!""Please, please, oh, please!""I do. I'm not a schoolboy any more. I want you. If I take Myrtle, it'sto forget you.""Please, please!""It's you that are unstable! You talk at things and play at things, butyou're scared. Would I mind it if you and I went off to poverty, and Ihad to dig ditches? I would not! But you would. I think you would cometo like me, but you won't admit it. I wouldn't have said this, but whenyou sneer at Myrtle and the mill----If I'm not to have good sensiblethings like those, d' you think I'll be content with trying to become adamn dressmaker, after YOU? Are you fair? Are you?""No, I suppose not.""Do you like me? Do you?""Yes----No! Please! I can't talk any more.""Not here. Mrs. Haydock is looking at us.""No, nor anywhere. O Erik, I am fond of you, but I'm afraid.""What of?""Of Them! Of my rulers--Gopher Prairie. . . . My dear boy, we aretalking very foolishly. I am a normal wife and a good mother, and youare--oh, a college freshman.""You do like me! I'm going to make you love me!"She looked at him once, recklessly, and walked away with a serene gaitthat was a disordered flight.Kennicott grumbled on their way home, "You and this Valborg fellow seemquite chummy.""Oh, we are. He's interested in Myrtle Cass, and I was telling him hownice she is."In her room she marveled, "I have become a liar. I'm snarled with liesand foggy analyses and desires--I who was clear and sure."She hurried into Kennicott's room, sat on the edge of his bed. Heflapped a drowsy welcoming hand at her from the expanse of quilt anddented pillows."Will, I really think I ought to trot off to St. Paul or Chicago or someplace.""I thought we settled all that, few nights ago! Wait till we can have areal trip." He shook himself out of his drowsiness. "You might give me agood-night kiss."She did--dutifully. He held her lips against his for an intolerabletime. "Don't you like the old man any more?" he coaxed. He sat up andshyly fitted his palm about the slimness of her waist."Of course. I like you very much indeed." Even to herself it soundedflat. She longed to be able to throw into her voice the facile passionof a light woman. She patted his cheek.He sighed, "I'm sorry you're so tired. Seems like----But of course youaren't very strong.""Yes. . . . Then you don't think--you're quite sure I ought to stay herein town?""I told you so! I certainly do!"She crept back to her room, a small timorous figure in white."I can't face Will down--demand the right. He'd be obstinate. And Ican't even go off and earn my living again. Out of the habit of it. He'sdriving me----I'm afraid of what he's driving me to. Afraid."That man in there, snoring in stale air, my husband? Could any ceremonymake him my husband?"No. I don't want to hurt him. I want to love him. I can't, when I'mthinking of Erik. Am I too honest--a funny topsy-turvy honesty--thefaithfulness of unfaith? I wish I had a more compartmental mind, likemen. I'm too monogamous--toward Erik!--my child Erik, who needs me."Is an illicit affair like a gambling debt--demands stricter honor thanthe legitimate debt of matrimony, because it's not legally enforced?"That's nonsense! I don't care in the least for Erik! Not for any man. Iwant to be let alone, in a woman world--a world without Main Street,or politicians, or business men, or men with that sudden beastly hungrylook, that glistening unfrank expression that wives know----"If Erik were here, if he would just sit quiet and kind and talk, Icould be still, I could go to sleep."I am so tired. If I could sleep----"