CHAPTER XXXIV

by Sinclair Lewis

　　THEY journeyed for three and a half months. They saw the Grand Canyon,the adobe walls of Sante Fe and, in a drive from El Paso into Mexico,their first foreign land. They jogged from San Diego and La Jolla to LosAngeles, Pasadena, Riverside, through towns with bell-towered missionsand orange-groves; they viewed Monterey and San Francisco and a forestof sequoias. They bathed in the surf and climbed foothills and danced,they saw a polo game and the making of motion-pictures, they sent onehundred and seventeen souvenir post-cards to Gopher Prairie, and once,on a dune by a foggy sea when she was walking alone, Carol found anartist, and he looked up at her and said, "Too damned wet to paint; sitdown and talk," and so for ten minutes she lived in a romantic novel.Her only struggle was in coaxing Kennicott not to spend all his timewith the tourists from the ten thousand other Gopher Prairies. Inwinter, California is full of people from Iowa and Nebraska, Ohio andOklahoma, who, having traveled thousands of miles from their familiarvillages, hasten to secure an illusion of not having left them. Theyhunt for people from their own states to stand between them and theshame of naked mountains; they talk steadily, in Pullmans, on hotelporches, at cafeterias and motion-picture shows, about the motors andcrops and county politics back home. Kennicott discussed land-priceswith them, he went into the merits of the several sorts of motor carswith them, he was intimate with train porters, and he insisted on seeingthe Luke Dawsons at their flimsy bungalow in Pasadena, where Luke satand yearned to go back and make some more money. But Kennicott gavepromise of learning to play. He shouted in the pool at the Coronado, andhe spoke of (though he did nothing more radical than speak of) buyingevening-clothes. Carol was touched by his efforts to enjoy picturegalleries, and the dogged way in which he accumulated dates anddimensions when they followed monkish guides through missions.She felt strong. Whenever she was restless she dodged her thoughts bythe familiar vagabond fallacy of running away from them, of moving onto a new place, and thus she persuaded herself that she was tranquil. InMarch she willingly agreed with Kennicott that it was time to go home.She was longing for Hugh.They left Monterey on April first, on a day of high blue skies andpoppies and a summer sea.As the train struck in among the hills she resolved, "I'm going to lovethe fine Will Kennicott quality that there is in Gopher Prairie. Thenobility of good sense. It will be sweet to see Vida and Guy and theClarks. And I'm going to see my baby! All the words he'll be able to saynow! It's a new start. Everything will be different!"Thus on April first, among dappled hills and the bronze of scrub oaks,while Kennicott seesawed on his toes and chuckled, "Wonder what Hugh'llsay when he sees us?"Three days later they reached Gopher Prairie in a sleet storm.IINo one knew that they were coming; no one met them; and because of theicy roads, the only conveyance at the station was the hotel 'bus, whichthey missed while Kennicott was giving his trunk-check to the stationagent--the only person to welcome them. Carol waited for him in thestation, among huddled German women with shawls and umbrellas, andragged-bearded farmers in corduroy coats; peasants mute as oxen, in aroom thick with the steam of wet coats, the reek of the red-hot stove,the stench of sawdust boxes which served as cuspidors. The afternoonlight was as reluctant as a winter dawn."This is a useful market-center, an interesting pioneer post, but it isnot a home for me," meditated the stranger Carol.Kennicott suggested, "I'd 'phone for a flivver but it'd take quite awhile for it to get here. Let's walk."They stepped uncomfortably from the safety of the plank platform and,balancing on their toes, taking cautious strides, ventured along theroad. The sleety rain was turning to snow. The air was stealthily cold.Beneath an inch of water was a layer of ice, so that as they waveredwith their suit-cases they slid and almost fell. The wet snow drenchedtheir gloves; the water underfoot splashed their itching ankles. Theyscuffled inch by inch for three blocks. In front of Harry Haydock'sKennicott sighed:"We better stop in here and 'phone for a machine."She followed him like a wet kitten.The Haydocks saw them laboring up the slippery concrete walk, up theperilous front steps, and came to the door chanting:"Well, well, well, back again, eh? Say, this is fine! Have a fine trip?My, you look like a rose, Carol. How did you like the coast, doc? Well,well, well! Where-all did you go?"But as Kennicott began to proclaim the list of places achieved, Harryinterrupted with an account of how much he himself had seen, two yearsago. When Kennicott boasted, "We went through the mission at SantaBarbara," Harry broke in, "Yeh, that's an interesting old mission. Say,I'll never forget that hotel there, doc. It was swell. Why, the roomswere made just like these old monasteries. Juanita and I went from SantaBarbara to San Luis Obispo. You folks go to San Luis Obispo?""No, but----""Well you ought to gone to San Luis Obispo. And then we went from thereto a ranch, least they called it a ranch----"Kennicott got in only one considerable narrative, which began:"Say, I never knew--did you, Harry?--that in the Chicago district theKutz Kar sells as well as the Overland? I never thought much of theKutz. But I met a gentleman on the train--it was when we were pullingout of Albuquerque, and I was sitting on the back platform of theobservation car, and this man was next to me and he asked me for alight, and we got to talking, and come to find out, he came from Aurora,and when he found out I came from Minnesota he asked me if I knew Dr.Clemworth of Red Wing, and of course, while I've never met him, I'veheard of Clemworth lots of times, and seems he's this man's brother!Quite a coincidence! Well, we got to talking, and we called theporter--that was a pretty good porter on that car--and we had a couplebottles of ginger ale, and I happened to mention the Kutz Kar, and thisman--seems he's driven a lot of different kinds of cars--he's gota Franklin now--and he said that he'd tried the Kutz and liked itfirst-rate. Well, when we got into a station--I don't remember the nameof it--Carrie, what the deuce was the name of that first stop we madethe other side of Albuquerque?--well, anyway, I guess we must havestopped there to take on water, and this man and I got out to stretchour legs, and darned if there wasn't a Kutz drawn right up at the depotplatform, and he pointed out something I'd never noticed, and I wasglad to learn about it: seems that the gear lever in the Kutz is an inchlonger----"Even this chronicle of voyages Harry interrupted, with remarks on theadvantages of the ball-gear-shift.Kennicott gave up hope of adequate credit for being a traveled man, andtelephoned to a garage for a Ford taxicab, while Juanita kissed Caroland made sure of being the first to tell the latest, which includedseven distinct and proven scandals about Mrs. Swiftwaite, and oneconsiderable doubt as to the chastity of Cy Bogart.They saw the Ford sedan making its way over the water-lined ice, throughthe snow-storm, like a tug-boat in a fog. The driver stopped at acorner. The car skidded, it turned about with comic reluctance, crashedinto a tree, and stood tilted on a broken wheel.The Kennicotts refused Harry Haydock's not too urgent offer to take themhome in his car "if I can manage to get it out of the garage--terribleday--stayed home from the store--but if you say so, I'll take a shot atit." Carol gurgled, "No, I think we'd better walk; probably make bettertime, and I'm just crazy to see my baby." With their suit-cases theywaddled on. Their coats were soaked through.Carol had forgotten her facile hopes. She looked about with impersonaleyes. But Kennicott, through rain-blurred lashes, caught the glory thatwas Back Home.She noted bare tree-trunks, black branches, the spongy brown earthbetween patches of decayed snow on the lawns. The vacant lots werefull of tall dead weeds. Stripped of summer leaves the houses werehopeless--temporary shelters.Kennicott chuckled, "By golly, look down there! Jack Elder must havepainted his garage. And look! Martin Mahoney has put up a new fencearound his chicken yard. Say, that's a good fence, eh? Chicken-tightand dog-tight. That's certainly a dandy fence. Wonder how much it cost ayard? Yes, sir, they been building right along, even in winter. Got moreenterprise than these Californians. Pretty good to be home, eh?"She noted that all winter long the citizens had been throwing garbageinto their back yards, to be cleaned up in spring. The recent thaw haddisclosed heaps of ashes, dog-bones, torn bedding, clotted paint-cans,all half covered by the icy pools which filled the hollows of the yards.The refuse had stained the water to vile colors of waste: thin red, souryellow, streaky brown.Kennicott chuckled, "Look over there on Main Street! They got thefeed store all fixed up, and a new sign on it, black and gold. That'llimprove the appearance of the block a lot."She noted that the few people whom they passed wore their raggedestcoats for the evil day. They were scarecrows in a shanty town. . . . "Tothink," she marveled, "of coming two thousand miles, past mountainsand cities, to get off here, and to plan to stay here! What conceivablereason for choosing this particular place?"She noted a figure in a rusty coat and a cloth cap.Kennicott chuckled, "Look who's coming! It's Sam Clark! Gosh, all riggedout for the weather."The two men shook hands a dozen times and, in the Western fashion,bumbled, "Well, well, well, well, you old hell-hound, you old devil,how are you, anyway? You old horse-thief, maybe it ain't good to seeyou again!" While Sam nodded at her over Kennicott's shoulder, she wasembarrassed."Perhaps I should never have gone away. I'm out of practise in lying. Iwish they would get it over! Just a block more and--my baby!"They were home. She brushed past the welcoming Aunt Bessie and kneltby Hugh. As he stammered, "O mummy, mummy, don't go away! Stay with me,mummy!" she cried, "No, I'll never leave you again!"He volunteered, "That's daddy.""By golly, he knows us just as if we'd never been away!" said Kennicott."You don't find any of these California kids as bright as he is, at hisage!"When the trunk came they piled about Hugh the bewhiskered little woodenmen fitting one inside another, the miniature junk, and the Orientaldrum, from San Francisco Chinatown; the blocks carved by the oldFrenchman in San Diego; the lariat from San Antonio."Will you forgive mummy for going away? Will you?" she whispered.Absorbed in Hugh, asking a hundred questions about him--had he had anycolds? did he still dawdle over his oatmeal? what about unfortunatemorning incidents? she viewed Aunt Bessie only as a source ofinformation, and was able to ignore her hint, pointed by a coyly shakenfinger, "Now that you've had such a fine long trip and spent so muchmoney and all, I hope you're going to settle down and be satisfied andnot----""Does he like carrots yet?" replied Carol.She was cheerful as the snow began to conceal the slatternly yards. Sheassured herself that the streets of New York and Chicago were as ugly asGopher Prairie in such weather; she dismissed the thought, "But theydo have charming interiors for refuge." She sang as she energeticallylooked over Hugh's clothes.The afternoon grew old and dark. Aunt Bessie went home. Carol took thebaby into her own room. The maid came in complaining, "I can't get noextra milk to make chipped beef for supper." Hugh was sleepy, and he hadbeen spoiled by Aunt Bessie. Even to a returned mother, his whining andhis trick of seven times snatching her silver brush were fatiguing. As abackground, behind the noises of Hugh and the kitchen, the house reekedwith a colorless stillness.From the window she heard Kennicott greeting the Widow Bogart as he hadalways done, always, every snowy evening: "Guess this 'll keep up allnight." She waited. There they were, the furnace sounds, unalterable,eternal: removing ashes, shoveling coal.Yes. She was back home! Nothing had changed. She had never been away.California? Had she seen it? Had she for one minute left this scrapingsound of the small shovel in the ash-pit of the furnace? But Kennicottpreposterously supposed that she had. Never had she been quite so farfrom going away as now when he believed she had just come back. Shefelt oozing through the walls the spirit of small houses and righteouspeople. At that instant she knew that in running away she had merelyhidden her doubts behind the officious stir of travel."Dear God, don't let me begin agonizing again!" she sobbed. Hugh weptwith her."Wait for mummy a second!" She hastened down to the cellar, toKennicott.He was standing before the furnace. However inadequate the rest of thehouse, he had seen to it that the fundamental cellar should be largeand clean, the square pillars whitewashed, and the bins for coal andpotatoes and trunks convenient. A glow from the drafts fell on thesmooth gray cement floor at his feet. He was whistling tenderly, staringat the furnace with eyes which saw the black-domed monster as a symbolof home and of the beloved routine to which he had returned--hisgipsying decently accomplished, his duty of viewing "sights" and"curios" performed with thoroughness. Unconscious of her, he stoopedand peered in at the blue flames among the coals. He closed the doorbriskly, and made a whirling gesture with his right hand, out of purebliss.He saw her. "Why, hello, old lady! Pretty darn good to be back, eh?""Yes," she lied, while she quaked, "Not now. I can't face the job ofexplaining now. He's been so good. He trusts me. And I'm going to breakhis heart!"She smiled at him. She tidied his sacred cellar by throwing an emptybluing bottle into the trash bin. She mourned, "It's only the baby thatholds me. If Hugh died----" She fled upstairs in panic and made surethat nothing had happened to Hugh in these four minutes.She saw a pencil-mark on a window-sill. She had made it on a Septemberday when she had been planning a picnic for Fern Mullins and Erik. Fernand she had been hysterical with nonsense, had invented mad parties forall the coming winter. She glanced across the alley at the room whichFern had occupied. A rag of a gray curtain masked the still window.She tried to think of some one to whom she wanted to telephone. Therewas no one.The Sam Clarks called that evening and encouraged her to describe themissions. A dozen times they told her how glad they were to have herback."It is good to be wanted," she thought. "It will drug me. But----Oh, isall life, always, an unresolved But?"