The Sight of the Stars

by Belva Plain

  “You go into a room full of people you’ve never seen before, and there among the crowd you find the ones, or the one, whom you want to know. That’s true, isn’t it?”

  A fierce burst of rain hammered the roof of the car and laid a gray sheet over the windows. It would be senseless for him to step out into such a storm. So they sat, close enough for him to become aware of perfume, one of those fragrances that were advertised with discreet references to the goddess Aphrodisia.

  It was his turn to speak, and he decided to take a chance.

  “What do you do on Sundays, Emma?”

  “I’m free next Sunday if you’re interested. After that I go back east. So where shall it be?”

  For a second he had a mental glimpse of that riverbank, the deep shade, the blue water, and the coots.

  “How about the new little park across from the school?”

  “Perfect. Let’s say three o’clock. Aunt Sabine takes a nap after midday dinner, so I won’t have to answer any questions about where I’m going.”

  As abruptly as the cloudburst had arrived, it now passed. In front of his house Adam got out of the car, thanked Emma, and went inside with a strange sense of excitement beating in his chest. Rare she was, as special and unusual as Jonathan in her way.

  He was halfway up the stairs when Doris called to him from below. “However did you manage to keep dry in that rain?”

  “Somebody gave me a lift.”

  It was awkward to stand on the stairs that way, so he came back down. She wore such a broad, expectant smile that he couldn’t help smiling back.

  “You look as happy as Christmas morning,” he said.

  “No, no. It’s my dress. I bought it at your place. Do you like it?”

  Blue cotton with a white frill around the neck, it matched her eyes, and he told her so, which always pleased her.

  “I thought you’d like it. I’m going to take it off now and keep it for next Sunday, but I wanted you to see it first.”

  “Doris, you don’t have to please me or anybody,” he said gently. “You must wear what you like.”

  “I want to please you. When a girl goes someplace with a man, she wants him to approve of the way she looks. It’s only common sense.”

  Common nonsense, he thought. Or maybe it isn’t. I don’t know. Standing there with a faintly hurt look on her pretty face and two little lines between her eyebrows, Doris made him feel sorry for her.

  “You look lovely. You always do,” he said. Then a thought suddenly wrinkled his own forehead, and he exclaimed, “Sunday? Did you say Sunday?”

  “Of course. My cousins Bob and Lucy, their anniversary party. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

  Real distress struck him then as the palm of his hand struck his forehead, and he had to make his apology.

  “Oh, my God, forgive me! I did forget. My boss has asked to see me on Sunday, and I can’t refuse. There’s no possible way I can refuse. You do see that, don’t you?”

  “Well, if you did, you did. It can happen to anybody,” she said, looking woebegone. “Lucy and Bob will be disappointed. They like you so much.”

  So Lucy and Bob and all the rest of the relatives had been discussing him. There were few things more boring than a party with Doris’s relatives. All the same, he didn’t like doing this to her. But he didn’t want to cancel his meeting with Emma, either. He wanted to meet her in the park. He wished he didn’t feel so guilty about it.

  “What would you like to do this evening?” he asked brightly.

  “Anything you want,” she answered just as brightly.

  “No, you choose.”

  “The movies maybe?”

  “Fine. The new one at the Colony downtown. I heard it’s very good, but I don’t really know.”

  Doris smiled. “Sometimes I think you know everything, Adam.”

  He was amused. Somebody had told her, or perhaps she had read someplace, that a woman must say such things if she wants to hold a man’s interest.

  “We’ll go early so we can park and eat,” he said.

  Back in his room, he went to the window and looked down at one of his favorite sights, the birds clustered around the feeder and drinking at the bath. The Buckleys had a collie, a beautiful creature marked in brown and white; there it lay on the wet grass chewing away at a soup bone. Prince, he was named. Prince had nothing to worry him. Adam Arnring hadn’t had much to worry him of late, either. But right now, although he couldn’t say exactly why, he felt uneasy.

  Down below, Doris was pouring clean water into the birdbath. She had changed from the new dress, wanting to save it for the anniversary party. Lightly and quickly she moved, whether there in the yard or in the kitchen; often she sang. An unexplainable pity touched his heart as he watched her now. Was it because he had lied to her about next Sunday? Was it because he feared that he might lie to her again?

  But no. This encounter with Emma was as meaningless as the minor adventure of a man who stares at the star on the screen or in the great cities waits at the stage door for a sight of the prima ballerina.

  He would put aside his strange mood, change his shirt, put on a good tie, go downstairs, and take Doris out for the evening.

  Sunday was surprisingly hot for the season. Not surprisingly, the little park, usually crowded on a Sunday afternoon, was almost empty. Adam, arriving early, found a bench under a tree and waited. Every few minutes, he drew out his pocket watch, both wanting her to arrive and feeling apprehensive about it.

  At five minutes to three, she came down the grassy walk. Her white skirt barely brushed the ground, her straw hat bore one heavy rose on the brim, and he thought instantly that he had seen such a picture before. Was it some Impressionist painting in one of the art books in that bookstore downtown? He stood, brushed off the seat with his handkerchief, and sat beside Emma on the bench. For a few moments they looked at each other in silence. Then each began to laugh.

  “Isn’t this ridiculous, Adam? Wanting to meet, then meeting, then having nothing to say?”

  “Yes,” he said, “it’s not like me. I usually have a lot to say, too much sometimes, and now I can’t think of anything except that you look beautiful. Like a painting.”

  “Thank you, but in your business, you must know I’m completely wrong for the season. One isn’t supposed to wear white or a straw hat after the first of September.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody. By the way, how did you get here? You didn’t walk all the way?”

  “Of course I did. If I had been seen in the car, I’d have had to answer too many questions. Even Rudy and Rea still keep track of me. I was two years old when they came, and they think I’m still two. But they’re sweet, and I don’t mind.”

  “How about getting into my car and going for a drive? It’s parked over there at the gate.”

  “I’d love it. We could go out to the river. I love it there, and I never get to go. Would you like to?”

  “It’s my favorite spot, at the bend near the swimming hole. I go whenever I can. I take a sandwich and a book.”

  “Well, I can’t take my clothes off and dive into the swimming hole, but I could sit on the grass and take my shoes off. They’re new, and they hurt like the dickens.”

  The car hummed through the town onto the boulevard, then onto a dirt road, where the cottonwoods met each other overhead. Emma had put her hat on the floor, so that the wind ruffled the loose ends of her hair, as it had done that day in the store. Her russet hair, he thought.

  “Since you’re looking at me, let me look at you,” she said. “Tell me what a man who reads good books is doing in Rothirsch’s store.”

  “What has the one got to do with the other?” he asked.

  “Commerce doesn’t seem to go with reading your kind of books. I don’t think my uncle ever read a book in his life outside of a ledger or a stock report.”

  “Well, I’m me, and he was he.”

  “Yes, my dear man, and it’s a good thing for you tha
t you aren’t he.”

  “Ah, let him rest in peace,” Adam retorted, as Pa would have done.

  He was enjoying this girl’s talk. It was spirited and yet with an underlying softness.

  “Tell me, Adam, are you really interested in that store? Really?”

  “I’m interested in the business. It provides a service, since people need clothing. And also, why shouldn’t people make a good living out of providing the clothing?”

  “But all the beautiful trinkets that cost a fortune?”

  “If you can afford to buy some beauty and you’re not hurting anybody, why shouldn’t you do it?”

  “Well, I guess so. Tell me, were you ever very poor, Adam?”

  “Not starving poor. My father had—still has—a small grocery store, and we had a good home. He’s an immigrant, a hard worker.”

  The car was bumping down the dirt road; it slowed and stopped at the spot where he always parked it, and they got out. There was nobody in sight. The afternoon was asleep, and he did not want to discuss the grocery store or anything gloomy.

  “I guess you can’t understand poverty very well,” he said. “It’s hard to describe, anyway.”

  “Oh, you’re wrong. I was very poor when my aunt and uncle took me in. I had nothing. But you’re right, we’ll change the subject. First let me take off these shoes.”

  When she bent to do so, Adam saw her legs as high up as the knees. Whether she knew he must be seeing them, he could not tell, although she most likely did not, for there was nothing at all suggestive in her manner.

  As they reclined on the grass, Emma sighed, “Ah, bliss! All that’s lacking is some wonderful music.”

  “Piano? Your concert grand?”

  “Oh, anything, even a solitary flute. But of course I love the piano best. I actually miss mine when I’m away. Universities don’t provide pianos like that. It’s funny, I was so annoyed when Aunt Sabine bought it.”

  White clouds, so gauzy that the sunlight pierced them, floated over the river; a pair of coots floated down the river; the planet floated through the blue.

  For a moment they looked, and were silent. Then Emma said, “There’s nothing here that’s man-made except your car. It’s all nature. Have you ever heard that poem: ‘Nature I loved; and after Nature, Art—’?”

  Into Adam’s head there popped a poem that he could not have heard or read since his high school days. And he interrupted her.

  “‘I warmed both hands before the fire of life—’ ”

  “‘It sinks, and I am ready to depart,’ ” she finished.

  Adam laughed. “You’re surely not ready to depart?”

  “No, not for a long time. There’s too much I want to see and do.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, children. Most of all, I do want children. And of course, I want to make music, too.”

  “After you have your M.A.”

  “It’s not long till then, only another year.” And with a glance at her watch, Emma added, “We’d better start home, or they’ll be worried.”

  On the ride back, it seemed as if the zest had gone out of the afternoon. Neither one of them said very much until they reached Emma’s street, and she directed him.

  “Go around to the back door, please.”

  He did not mind. No doubt it was better so. But he could not resist a question. “Are you so afraid of your aunt?”

  “I’m not afraid of her at all, Adam. I just don’t want to upset her. Anyhow, I want to go to the kitchen and get some water for that poor dog,” Emma said, pointing to a small white dog that lay panting on the sidewalk. “Poor Tony. He lies on the stone to cool off. He belongs next door, and I can’t stand the way they treat him. He’s outdoors in this heat, and in the middle of winter, he lies outdoors freezing. I’m going to take him into the kitchen and hide him for a while.”

  “Why do you have to hide him?”

  “Aunt Sabine won’t have a dog in the house. She’s afraid he’ll damage something.” And then came the delightful, mischievous laugh that made Adam laugh, too. “A little damage could only be an improvement, if you ask me.”

  “So you’re leaving tomorrow?”

  “Yes, bright and early. It was a lovely afternoon, Adam. Thanks so much. I’d ask you to stay awhile, but—”

  “I know,” he said.

  But he could not let her go without one more question. “Is your aunt going to decide whom you marry, Emma?”

  With a glance that could only be called indignant, she threw up her hands and replied, “What on earth can you be thinking of me? Marriage is love, Adam. I marry for love, Adam, and for nothing else. Nothing.”

  She’s something like Jonathan, he thought again as he climbed the stairs to his rooms. She’s one of those people you want to be with. For no specific reason, you feel lighter and happier afterward.

  But no, he thought as he opened the door, why should I feel happier? There’s no reason for it. It’s ridiculous. What is Emma to me? We’ve spent some pleasant hours together. She comes and she goes. Once she has her degree, she’ll never come back to stay. And if she ever did stay, what difference would it make? You already have a fine girl waiting for you, Adam.

  At the window, propping his elbows on the sill, he looked out into the yard. There were no sounds from below, for they had all gone to the cousins’ party and would not be home until late. Relieved, because he did not feel like being sociable, he let his thoughts roam at random.

  I have a good life, so why should I be in any hurry to change it in any big way, such as getting married? All in due time . . .

  In the meanwhile, he would go to bed. It had been a late night Saturday, a long Sunday, and tomorrow was a workday.

  He lay down, slept and woke, slept and woke, disturbed each time by foolish dreams. Emma was there, bare-legged far above the knees, with a rose on her hat. Theo Brown was talking about the million-dollar merger. And Mrs. R. was laughing with pleasure over Emma’s engagement to “a very distinguished young man.” Doris stood next to Sabine, crying because there were stains on her new blue dress, and it wasn’t nice enough for a wedding, anyway.

  He woke late, dressed in an anxious hurry, and left without breakfast.

  Some days later, a letter arrived. It even looked like Emma, smooth and elegant, with the name embossed in a dark blue script that, Adam saw, was a copy of her own firm, graceful writing. He read:

  Here I am hard at work, loving it as always, and yet for the first time, feeling a trifle homesick. That Sunday afternoon was so beautiful! I had never realized just how lovely that spot by the river really is. As I think I mentioned, I had gone there before, but somehow this time it was different. Perhaps the next time, we could rent a canoe. What do you think?

  His eyes raced over the two pages that, after mentioning the chilly New England weather and the quartet in which she was to be the pianist next week, ended with Best wishes, Emma.

  Adam then began an analysis: This time it was different. Why was it different? Then there was the canoe, which clearly showed that she did expect another meeting. But the signature, “Best wishes,” was certainly formal. Still, what should he expect? “With love”? All in all, it seemed to be a warm letter unless he was reading too much into it.

  At this point he turned to an analysis of himself. Had he not made a surprising decision yesterday? After his recent, well-thought-out decision to propose marriage to Doris, he had made an abrupt, not at all well-thought-out decision not to propose it. Why had he had that light sense of happiness as he came up the stairs? And why had last night been so troubled by dreams?

  There came a knock at the door. By the soft sound of it, he knew it was Doris. Most likely she was coming to listen to the phonograph, her grandfather having obviously decided that he, Adam, was trustworthy enough for her to be alone with him in his apartment.

  “Oh, am I disturbing you?” She looked hesitant when he opened the door and let her in. “Am I too early? You said six o’clock, didn’
t you, before we go downstairs for supper? Gran’s got a roast, and it isn’t ready yet, anyway.”

  He had forgotten. . . . “No, no, it’s fine. Go ahead. Wind it up and choose a record while I go over my mail. I’ve got letters from home, and I have to write an answer.”

  Dear Emma, I know what you mean. It really was a wonderful day for me, and I’m glad you thought so, too. We certainly can rent a canoe and maybe go for a hike, too, farther west along the river, if you would like to.

  The pen paused. Mustn’t be too eager, scare her away, you hardly know her. On the other hand, don’t act too cool, that’s insulting, but you could say something about “happy to start a friendship”—no, that sounds like a business letter from a new manufacturer. Damn, why is it so hard to write a letter? Oh, just say what you’re thinking, short and sweet:

  I am looking forward to seeing you when you come here for Thanksgiving vacation. I assume that you will be coming. I hope that you will.

  Now for the ending. Can’t make up my mind. Maybe just sign my name.

  Caruso’s voice began to die away as the phonograph wheezed, and Doris jumped up to wind it.

  “Gramps says he’ll buy one soon, since I love it so much,” she said. “I’ll be glad because I’m afraid I bother you coming up here to listen.”

  She was waiting for him to protest that she did not bother him, and so he did.

  The truth was that usually he was glad to share the phonograph with Doris, but right now she annoyed him; he wished she would go away and he wished he didn’t have to go downstairs for supper.

  Surely it couldn’t be on account of Emma? That made no sense. After those few hours with her, what could he know about her? It made no sense.

  “Adam,” remarked Mr. Buckley at supper downstairs, “you look as if you have something on your mind.”

  “I admit I have. Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming up, our busiest season.”

  “Well, I can understand that, but don’t forget to enjoy yourself, too. You’re only young once. I tell Doris that all the time, don’t I, hon?”