CHAPTER XXXI

by Sinclair Lewis

　　THEIR night came unheralded.Kennicott was on a country call. It was cool but Carol huddled on theporch, rocking, meditating, rocking. The house was lonely and repellent,and though she sighed, "I ought to go in and read--so many things toread--ought to go in," she remained. Suddenly Erik was coming, turningin, swinging open the screen door, touching her hand."Erik!""Saw your husband driving out of town. Couldn't stand it.""Well----You mustn't stay more than five minutes.""Couldn't stand not seeing you. Every day, towards evening, felt I hadto see you--pictured you so clear. I've been good though, staying away,haven't I!""And you must go on being good.""Why must I?""We better not stay here on the porch. The Howlands across the streetare such window-peepers, and Mrs. Bogart----"She did not look at him but she could divine his tremulousness as hestumbled indoors. A moment ago the night had been coldly empty; now itwas incalculable, hot, treacherous. But it is women who are the calmrealists once they discard the fetishes of the premarital hunt. Carolwas serene as she murmured, "Hungry? I have some little honey-coloredcakes. You may have two, and then you must skip home.""Take me up and let me see Hugh asleep.""I don't believe----""Just a glimpse!""Well----"She doubtfully led the way to the hallroom-nursery. Their heads close,Erik's curls pleasant as they touched her cheek, they looked in at thebaby. Hugh was pink with slumber. He had burrowed into his pillow withsuch energy that it was almost smothering him. Beside it was a celluloidrhinoceros; tight in his hand a torn picture of Old King Cole."Shhh!" said Carol, quite automatically. She tiptoed in to pat thepillow. As she returned to Erik she had a friendly sense of his waitingfor her. They smiled at each other. She did not think of Kennicott, thebaby's father. What she did think was that some one rather like Erik, anolder and surer Erik, ought to be Hugh's father. The three of them wouldplay--incredible imaginative games."Carol! You've told me about your own room. Let me peep in at it.""But you mustn't stay, not a second. We must go downstairs.""Yes.""Will you be good?""R-reasonably!" He was pale, large-eyed, serious."You've got to be more than reasonably good!" She felt sensible andsuperior; she was energetic about pushing open the door.Kennicott had always seemed out of place there but Erik surprisinglyharmonized with the spirit of the room as he stroked the books, glancedat the prints. He held out his hands. He came toward her. She was weak,betrayed to a warm softness. Her head was tilted back. Her eyes wereclosed. Her thoughts were formless but many-colored. She felt his kiss,diffident and reverent, on her eyelid.Then she knew that it was impossible.She shook herself. She sprang from him. "Please!" she said sharply.He looked at her unyielding."I am fond of you," she said. "Don't spoil everything. Be my friend.""How many thousands and millions of women must have said that! And nowyou! And it doesn't spoil everything. It glorifies everything.""Dear, I do think there's a tiny streak of fairy in you--whatever you dowith it. Perhaps I'd have loved that once. But I won't. It's too late.But I'll keep a fondness for you. Impersonal--I will be impersonal! Itneedn't be just a thin talky fondness. You do need me, don't you? Onlyyou and my son need me. I've wanted so to be wanted! Once I wantedlove to be given to me. Now I'll be content if I can give. . . . Almostcontent!"We women, we like to do things for men. Poor men! We swoop on you whenyou're defenseless and fuss over you and insist on reforming you. Butit's so pitifully deep in us. You'll be the one thing in which I haven'tfailed. Do something definite! Even if it's just selling cottons. Sellbeautiful cottons--caravans from China----""Carol! Stop! You do love me!""I do not! It's just----Can't you understand? Everything crushes in onme so, all the gaping dull people, and I look for a way out----Pleasego. I can't stand any more. Please!"He was gone. And she was not relieved by the quiet of the house. She wasempty and the house was empty and she needed him. She wanted to goon talking, to get this threshed out, to build a sane friendship. Shewavered down to the living-room, looked out of the bay-window. He wasnot to be seen. But Mrs. Westlake was. She was walking past, and inthe light from the corner arc-lamp she quickly inspected the porch, thewindows. Carol dropped the curtain, stood with movement and reflectionparalyzed. Automatically, without reasoning, she mumbled, "I will seehim again soon and make him understand we must be friends. But----Thehouse is so empty. It echoes so."IIKennicott had seemed nervous and absent-minded through that supper-hour,two evenings after. He prowled about the living-room, then growled:"What the dickens have you been saying to Ma Westlake?"Carol's book rattled. "What do you mean?""I told you that Westlake and his wife were jealous of us, and here youbeen chumming up to them and----From what Dave tells me, Ma Westlake hasbeen going around town saying you told her that you hate Aunt Bessie,and that you fixed up your own room because I snore, and you saidBjornstam was too good for Bea, and then, just recent, that you weresore on the town because we don't all go down on our knees and beg thisValborg fellow to come take supper with us. God only knows what else shesays you said.""It's not true, any of it! I did like Mrs. Westlake, and I've called onher, and apparently she's gone and twisted everything I've said----""Sure. Of course she would. Didn't I tell you she would? She's an oldcat, like her pussyfooting, hand-holding husband. Lord, if I was sick,I'd rather have a faith-healer than Westlake, and she's another sliceoff the same bacon. What I can't understand though----"She waited, taut."----is whatever possessed you to let her pump you, bright a girl asyou are. I don't care what you told her--we all get peeved sometimesand want to blow off steam, that's natural--but if you wanted to keep itdark, why didn't you advertise it in the Dauntless, or get a megaphoneand stand on top of the hotel and holler, or do anything besides spillit to her!""I know. You told me. But she was so motherly. And I didn't have anywoman----Vida 's become so married and proprietary.""Well, next time you'll have better sense."He patted her head, flumped down behind his newspaper, said nothingmore.Enemies leered through the windows, stole on her from the hall. She hadno one save Erik. This kind good man Kennicott--he was an elderbrother. It was Erik, her fellow outcast, to whom she wanted to run forsanctuary. Through her storm she was, to the eye, sitting quietly withher fingers between the pages of a baby-blue book on home-dressmaking.But her dismay at Mrs. Westlake's treachery had risen to active dread.What had the woman said of her and Erik? What did she know? What had sheseen? Who else would join in the baying hunt? Who else had seen herwith Erik? What had she to fear from the Dyers, Cy Bogart, Juanita, AuntBessie? What precisely had she answered to Mrs. Bogart's questioning?All next day she was too restless to stay home, yet as she walked thestreets on fictitious errands she was afraid of every person she met.She waited for them to speak; waited with foreboding. She repeated, "Imustn't ever see Erik again." But the words did not register. She had noecstatic indulgence in the sense of guilt which is, to the women of MainStreet, the surest escape from blank tediousness.At five, crumpled in a chair in the living-room, she started at thesound of the bell. Some one opened the door. She waited, uneasy. VidaSherwin charged into the room. "Here's the one person I can trust!"Carol rejoiced.Vida was serious but affectionate. She bustled at Carol with, "Oh, thereyou are, dearie, so glad t' find you in, sit down, want to talk to you."Carol sat, obedient.Vida fussily tugged over a large chair and launched out:"I've been hearing vague rumors you were interested in this ErikValborg. I knew you couldn't be guilty, and I'm surer than ever of itnow. Here we are, as blooming as a daisy.""How does a respectable matron look when she feels guilty?"Carol sounded resentful."Why----Oh, it would show! Besides! I know that you, of all people, arethe one that can appreciate Dr. Will.""What have you been hearing?""Nothing, really. I just heard Mrs. Bogart say she'd seen you andValborg walking together a lot." Vida's chirping slackened. She lookedat her nails. "But----I suspect you do like Valborg. Oh, I don't mean inany wrong way. But you're young; you don't know what an innocent likingmight drift into. You always pretend to be so sophisticated and all,but you're a baby. Just because you are so innocent, you don't know whatevil thoughts may lurk in that fellow's brain.""You don't suppose Valborg could actually think about making love tome?"Her rather cheap sport ended abruptly as Vida cried, with contortedface, "What do you know about the thoughts in hearts? You just play atreforming the world. You don't know what it means to suffer."There are two insults which no human being will endure: the assertionthat he hasn't a sense of humor, and the doubly impertinent assertionthat he has never known trouble. Carol said furiously, "You think Idon't suffer? You think I've always had an easy----""No, you don't. I'm going to tell you something I've never told a livingsoul, not even Ray." The dam of repressed imagination which Vida hadbuilded for years, which now, with Raymie off at the wars, she wasbuilding again, gave way."I was--I liked Will terribly well. One time at a party--oh, beforehe met you, of course--but we held hands, and we were so happy. But Ididn't feel I was really suited to him. I let him go. Please don't thinkI still love him! I see now that Ray was predestined to be my mate. Butbecause I liked him, I know how sincere and pure and noble Will is, andhis thoughts never straying from the path of rectitude, and----If I gavehim up to you, at least you've got to appreciate him! We danced togetherand laughed so, and I gave him up, but----This IS my affair! I'm NOTintruding! I see the whole thing as he does, because of all I've toldyou. Maybe it's shameless to bare my heart this way, but I do it forhim--for him and you!"Carol understood that Vida believed herself to have recited minutely andbrazenly a story of intimate love; understood that, in alarm, she wastrying to cover her shame as she struggled on, "Liked him in the mosthonorable way--simply can't help it if I still see things throughhis eyes----If I gave him up, I certainly am not beyond my rightsin demanding that you take care to avoid even the appearance of eviland----" She was weeping; an insignificant, flushed, ungracefullyweeping woman.Carol could not endure it. She ran to Vida, kissed her forehead,comforted her with a murmur of dove-like sounds, sought to reassure herwith worn and hastily assembled gifts of words: "Oh, I appreciate it somuch," and "You are so fine and splendid," and "Let me assure you thereisn't a thing to what you've heard," and "Oh, indeed, I do know howsincere Will is, and as you say, so--so sincere."Vida believed that she had explained many deep and devious matters. Shecame out of her hysteria like a sparrow shaking off rain-drops. She satup, and took advantage of her victory:"I don't want to rub it in, but you can see for yourself now, this isall a result of your being so discontented and not appreciating the deargood people here. And another thing: People like you and me, who want toreform things, have to be particularly careful about appearances. Thinkhow much better you can criticize conventional customs if you yourselflive up to them, scrupulously. Then people can't say you're attackingthem to excuse your own infractions."To Carol was given a sudden great philosophical understanding, anexplanation of half the cautious reforms in history. "Yes. I've heardthat plea. It's a good one. It sets revolts aside to cool. It keepsstrays in the flock. To word it differently: 'You must live up to thepopular code if you believe in it; but if you don't believe in it, thenyou MUST live up to it!'""I don't think so at all," said Vida vaguely. She began to look hurt,and Carol let her be oracular.IIIVida had done her a service; had made all agonizing seem so fatuous thatshe ceased writhing and saw that her whole problem was simple as mutton:she was interested in Erik's aspiration; interest gave her a hesitatingfondness for him; and the future would take care of the event. . . .But at night, thinking in bed, she protested, "I'm not a falselyaccused innocent, though! If it were some one more resolute than Erik, afighter, an artist with bearded surly lips----They're only in books.Is that the real tragedy, that I never shall know tragedy, never findanything but blustery complications that turn out to be a farce?"No one big enough or pitiful enough to sacrifice for. Tragedy inneat blouses; the eternal flame all nice and safe in a kerosene stove.Neither heroic faith nor heroic guilt. Peeping at love from behind lacecurtains--on Main Street!"Aunt Bessie crept in next day, tried to pump her, tried to prime thepump by again hinting that Kennicott might have his own affairs. Carolsnapped, "Whatever I may do, I'll have you to understand that Will isonly too safe!" She wished afterward that she had not been so lofty. Howmuch would Aunt Bessie make of "Whatever I may do?"When Kennicott came home he poked at things, and hemmed, and broughtout, "Saw aunty, this afternoon. She said you weren't very polite toher."Carol laughed. He looked at her in a puzzled way and fled to hisnewspaper.IVShe lay sleepless. She alternately considered ways of leaving Kennicott,and remembered his virtues, pitied his bewilderment in face of thesubtle corroding sicknesses which he could not dose nor cut out. Didn'the perhaps need her more than did the book-solaced Erik? Suppose Willwere to die, suddenly. Suppose she never again saw him at breakfast,silent but amiable, listening to her chatter. Suppose he never againplayed elephant for Hugh. Suppose----A country call, a slippery road,his motor skidding, the edge of the road crumbling, the car turningturtle, Will pinned beneath, suffering, brought home maimed, looking ather with spaniel eyes--or waiting for her, calling for her, while shewas in Chicago, knowing nothing of it. Suppose he were sued by somevicious shrieking woman for malpractice. He tried to get witnesses;Westlake spread lies; his friends doubted him; his self-confidence wasso broken that it was horrible to see the indecision of the decisiveman; he was convicted, handcuffed, taken on a train----She ran to his room. At her nervous push the door swung sharply in,struck a chair. He awoke, gasped, then in a steady voice: "What is it,dear? Anything wrong?" She darted to him, fumbled for the familiar harshbristly cheek. How well she knew it, every seam, and hardness of bone,and roll of fat! Yet when he sighed, "This is a nice visit," and droppedhis hand on her thin-covered shoulder, she said, too cheerily, "Ithought I heard you moaning. So silly of me. Good night, dear."VShe did not see Erik for a fortnight, save once at church and once whenshe went to the tailor shop to talk over the plans, contingencies, andstrategy of Kennicott's annual campaign for getting a new suit. NatHicks was there, and he was not so deferential as he had been. Withunnecessary jauntiness he chuckled, "Some nice flannels, themsamples, heh?" Needlessly he touched her arm to call attention to thefashion-plates, and humorously he glanced from her to Erik. At home shewondered if the little beast might not be suggesting himself as a rivalto Erik, but that abysmal bedragglement she would not consider.She saw Juanita Haydock slowly walking past the house--as Mrs. Westlakehad once walked past.She met Mrs. Westlake in Uncle Whittier's store, and before that alertstare forgot her determination to be rude, and was shakily cordial.She was sure that all the men on the street, even Guy Pollock and SamClark, leered at her in an interested hopeful way, as though she werea notorious divorcee. She felt as insecure as a shadowed criminal. Shewished to see Erik, and wished that she had never seen him. She fanciedthat Kennicott was the only person in town who did not know all--knowincomparably more than there was to know--about herself and Erik. Shecrouched in her chair as she imagined men talking of her, thick-voiced,obscene, in barber shops and the tobacco-stinking pool parlor.Through early autumn Fern Mullins was the only person who broke thesuspense. The frivolous teacher had come to accept Carol as of herown youth, and though school had begun she rushed in daily to suggestdances, welsh-rabbit parties.Fern begged her to go as chaperon to a barn-dance in the country, on aSaturday evening. Carol could not go. The next day, the storm crashed.