Pride House: The Quest for Vainglory

by Rob Summers

Chapter 16 Old Glasses

  The following morning was one of Reason’s days off, but she was not cheered by it. The little help her glasses had provided her seemed to be failing. Worse, her head began to ache as soon as she put them on. Her pain and frustration had been such the previous evening that she had adjourned her usual chess game with her grandfather.

  Now in earliest morning she lifted her glasses from the nightstand and looked at them somewhat as a torture victim contemplates the thumbscrew. She remembered that an old pair of glasses, with a weaker prescription, were stowed away. She might not be able to see anything through them, but at least she might be able to wear them without any headache. Being Reason, she knew exactly where to find them. In a moment they were in her hands, their lenses only half as thick as the newer pair. She tried them on and exclaimed. The wardrobe! She could see its scroll work in all its detail. And there! The leaves of the trees beyond the window—clear!

  Her eyes had gotten better, not worse. So then her blindness had been psychosomatic, just as Truth had said. She thought of the pastor and how pleasant it would be to see his face clearly. She could hardly wait for her next appointment with him.

  Pride, of course, did not know that she was still seeing Truth. She had taken to slipping out without telling anyone, and not just for her eye appointments but for anything she considered important. Her rebellion was aided by the circumstance that Doubt had been somewhat ill lately and less able to monitor the doings of the household. Doubt knew about Pastor Truth—nothing could be kept from her for long—but had not yet been able to prove that Reason was still seeing him.

  Reason now hastily dressed and went about the house simply looking at things for the joy of it. How dark it was. She opened blinds and shutters and was pleased at the effect, although she had to admit the place had an unkempt look. Now that she was able to check their work, she determined to be more exacting with the maids.

  Her stomach was growling, so she went to the kitchen. She decided to pass through the dining room on the way, for she was eager to see for herself Confusion’s redecorating. The room had recently been reopened to the accompaniment of some extremely muted praise. She had gathered that something was lacking and secretly hoped something was very bad indeed, since she loathed Confusion.

  Upon entering the room, she had to lean against the table to steady herself. This was so shockingly bad that she could feel no pleasure in Confusion’s incompetence, only shame for the house.

  The old, familiar sideboard had been replaced by a gigantic, plastic shelving unit in black, white, and chrome. The Doric columns in front of it had been repainted a bright yellow, an amazing contrast. But the columns now disappeared into a drop ceiling which concealed the old vaulting. Oh, and the carpet! It was now a shag mixture of red, yellow, purple—she had to look away—of too many colors.

  In one corner stood a butter churn, in another the latest in robot butlers, for the moment mercifully turned off. The old china cabinet had been covered with light blue shelf paper and, in place of its former sprinkling of dishes and crystal, had been crammed with ceramic cherubs, roosting hens made of carnival glass, old department store catalogs, a Mickey Mouse telephone, a first aid kit, pincushions, ugly dolls—no, it was too much, she had to look away.

  Along the windowed side of the room lay the sarcophagus of an Egyptian mummy, decorated with doilies. In the center of the table stood a Ming vase filled with the cheapest of artificial flowers. Reason felt ill, but could not escape, wherever she looked. Above the door by which she had entered a neon sign spelled ‘BEER’; a Rembrandt print was beside the door; a slightly tilted Norman Rockwell next to it; and next a movie poster taped to the wall; below it a bronze spittoon and an elephant leg umbrella stand used as a planter. The plant, something tropical, was dying. Reason tested the soil with a finger and discovered that it was dry.

  At this moment Pride entered, unshaven, berobed, and looking as if he had slept little. He looked her over groggily.

  “New glasses?” he asked.

  “No, old ones,” she said. “My eyes are better. I can see.” She made a face. “I can see this room.”

  Pride looked around with the air of a man who has come to accept his doctor’s terminal prognosis. “Has a little bit of everything, doesn’t it?” he said bravely.

  “She’s insane.”

  He sat down and stared blearily at the artificial flowers, his chin in his hands. “I have worse problems than that. My date last night with Fame was a disaster. I’ve got to call her and apologize. I’ve been thinking about it all night.”

  He looked up at her and stiffened his tone. “You see what I told you about your eyes? That quack Truth was no good. You had to see a real doctor. Who did you go to, by the way?”

  Reason remained guiltily silent. Pride, however, did not press the matter. “She’s wanting to do the sitting room, too,” he said, swinging back to the subject of Confusion’s decorating, “and the TV room. I haven’t really given her an answer yet.”

  Reason’s lower lip trembled and she clasped her hands. “Would you like my advice?” she asked.

  “About Fame? Gladly. Look, you’re about the only sensible woman I know. Can you explain to me why she’s so afraid of getting close to me? What can it hurt her? Why play games with me?”

  “Some women like to play games with men,” Reason observed. “They enjoy manipulation.”

  “I can’t believe that she’s that shallow. I think she’s just too much under the control of Power. If she would just get rid of him—”

  Reason smiled. “Oh, cousin, are you that naïve? Don’t you realize that without Power behind her she’s nothing? You can’t have Vainglory without coming to terms with him. If you’re treating him as an enemy, what hope do you have with her? You need to get him on your side.”

  “What? Start toadying up to him, you mean?”

  “I didn’t say it’s what should be done.”

  “Well, I asked for your advice.” Pride looked sullen.

  Reason knew that a summary of what Pride ought to be doing with his life was far more than he would listen to with the least patience.

  “Well?”

  “She’s using you,” she said hopelessly. “She’s using you callously and cruelly, and you are just allowing her. You have to accept that she just isn’t the person you imagined.”

  “I need to wake her up,” said Pride. “She needs to see herself.”

  “She doesn’t want to.”

  “Then I’ll make her.” Pride sat straight up. “I’ll make her be the person I imagined. She can change.”

  She looked at him as an asylum visitor looks at a patient who has introduced himself as God. At this moment, Doubt appeared in the doorway with the morning newspaper in her hand. She was robed right up to her throat and looked even wearier than Pride. Her voice was low and gravelly, due to her illness, as she turned to Reason with a smirk.

  “Reason, aren’t you always happy when criminals get arrested?”

  Reason knew better than to take Doubt’s bait, but she wondered what would come next.

  “Yes,” said Doubt, spreading the newspaper on the table, “you’ll be relieved to know that someone you might have trusted is now safely locked away where he can’t deceive society anymore.”

  She stepped back and motioned Reason forward. Half way down the front page was the headline ‘Street Preacher Arrested.’

  “Justice at last,” purred Doubt. “Don’t you feel safer knowing he’s behind bars?”