The Self-Enchanted

by David Stacton

  Sally fell into a deep sleep. When she woke up the boy brought her her breakfast on a tray, and she was then left alone. She was pleased enough, for she did not feel strong enough to get up.

  Nora’s room was surprisingly simple, more like a work-room than anything else, if it had not been for a huge baroque mirror hanging on the wall opposite the bed. Looking in it, she was reminded of how strange she had looked to herself when the sister at the hospital had brought her a mirror.

  At one o’clock she took a shower and got dressed. She found Nora in a room she had not seen before, a small one facing out over the citv, fitted up as a breakfast room. Nora looked disturbed. She had her elbows on the table, with her hands clasped in front of her.

  “Are you going to have lunch with me?” she asked. “All I eat is a light salad, so you’ll have to have that.”

  Sally sat down and was silent while the boy served. So was Nora, who bit her lip as she watched the boy. “Christopher phoned,” she said, once he was gone. “I told him you were here. I also told him he wouldn’t be allowed inside the door.”

  Sally glanced up. “I guess I should tell you some things,” said Nora. “I suppose Christopher has told you that the two of us are not precisely friends. It’s quite true. 1 think I’ll even tell you why. Has he ever told you much about himself?”

  “No.”

  “I shouldn’t imagine so. Of course he’s been a gambler and a smuggler and all that. That’s his own affair. My father made his money smuggling cheap coolie labour into the State, for that matter. You can find that sort of thing anywhere. And I suppose Christopher passes for respectable now. You see, I’m being honest with you. As for you, I like you. I came from a small town myself. My first marriage wasn’t exactly a blessing.” She sighed. “I hate him because he raped my daughter.”

  Sally sat bolt upright.

  “Does that shock you? I’m fond of my daughter. It shocked me. But not for the reasons you think. He wanted to marry her. He wasn’t Barocco then. He was just a rising young dago with a shady reputation. My daughter was wild when she was younger. She drank a lot, and she liked men. I don’t know where she met him, but he’s always been able to fascinate people. He fascinated her. Why not? It was a good marriage for him. It would have given him some legitimate backing. I refused to allow it. Clara was furious, but there wasn’t any marriage. So he raped her. He told me so in this room, for it was his idea of revenge. Of course I could have had him arrested, she was under age, but what good would that have done? He stood there and laughed at me, and I vowed then I’d ruin him. I’ll do it yet.”

  She stopped and looked at Sally shrewdly. “He’s not insane. But he’ll stop at nothing. And now I gather life is catching up with him. Oh, I like to watch him. I like to see him every now and then. I enjoy it. But I like you. Why did you marry him, by the way?”

  “I don’t know. I was lonely.”

  “Are you less lonely now?”

  “No,” said Sally slowly.

  “Yet you love him,” she said. “I wonder if you know it? And maybe he loves you.”

  “I don’t love him.”

  “No, not in an ordinary way, I suppose. Do you know what I’d advise you to do? Run away. Separate. Get a divorce.”

  “But where could I go?”

  “That could be arranged. Curt is in Reno, you could go there. Have you any money?”

  “Christopher allows me five hundred a month.”

  “Then take it and go. Run away as far and as fast as you can, and then make up your mind. Don’t even try to see him, or let him see you. And then see what happens. He’s pretty desperate. It might be a good idea to leave him alone for a while.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I know you don’t. If you really hated him, you would. Of course if I were you I’d leave him for good. You’re young. It wouldn’t be hard for you to marry again.”

  Sally felt like crying. “I’ve never been so unhappy in my life.”

  “I think even your precious husband is frightened at what he has done this time. He sounded it on the phone. Is he really ill?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Nora put two lumps of sugar into a cup, poured, and handed Sally the tea. “I saw his mother once. A venomous old woman. Everybody in Santa Barbara who knew her hated her. And she hated everybody, including him. That’s why he treated her so well. Oh, he comes by it nobly. It’s a pity you didn’t know what you were getting into. I suppose he seemed glamorous, strutting about up there. But he’s slipping now. He can always pull plenty out of Nevada, I suppose, but he’s slipping. I don’t think he’d dare touch you now. It’s up to you. Go to Reno. If you stay here, he’s bound to want to see you.”

  Sally had thought of that. She did not know what to believe.

  ‘I’ll have to think it over,” she said.

  She did not altogether trust Nora. But she could not face Christopher, either. Every time she heard the phone ring, she jumped. Finally, whether she was making a mistake or not, she decided that she had to get away.

  Nora made a reservation for her, under her maiden name, at the Riverside, Reno’s best divorce hotel, and she left that night. She could not get over the feeling that in some way she was sneaking out of California, and that she was doing something wrong.

  XIV

  Nora was extremely pleased with herself. The next day, after Sally had gone, she phoned her lawyer. It was the only call she made or received that day, for Christopher, contrary to her expectations, did not phone.

  It was some time since she had been in such a good mood, so she decided to dress and go shopping. Clara was going to have a confinement, and wanted some raw silk for pyjamas. Instead of taking the car, Nora walked three blocks downhill to Chinatown. It was a bright morning and exercise would do her no harm. It did not surprise her that life had played into her hands. It usually did.

  She spent an hour in Chinatown. She enjoyed the place. Even now that all its stores were owned either by Jews or by Americans, she still found it charming.

  She walked past St. Mary’s Church, which was old and had atmosphere. It was made of red brick in a doll-house gothic manner, and she had always been fond of it. Feeling tired, she decided to go inside and sit down for a minute or two. She pushed through the swinging doors and passed into the nave. It was darker than usual and heavily scented. In the dim light the red and blue candles flickered to and fro, and the altar-piece always diverted her. It was a bad copy of a bad Murillo, the one of the Virgin with her foot on the crescent moon. She sank down into a pew and looked around. She could hear the cable of the cable car running by outside.

  The church was almost empty. A couple of young girls came in, obviously at their lunch hour. It wasn’t what she would have chosen to do with her lunch hour. She sat there primly, feeling relaxed and rather amused, but beginning to long for a cigarette. She decided to get up and explore. The building was not very old, but it was old enough to make her feel slightly embarrassed, and she walked lightly, not wishing to make a disturbance. She went down the central aisle, towards the altar. A priest was fiddling with the candles, and though he was young and handsome, he already had that unreal look she associated with the clergy. While she watched, he finished and went away. She turned to leave, and as she did so, heard a movement and a sigh from one of the side aisles. Curious, she turned around, but her view was blocked by one of the pillars. The sound came from a side altar to St. Antony of Padua, and she stepped closer to look.

  It was Christopher.

  At first she could not believe it. She would never have thought him a religious man. She could see him plainly, crouched down beneath that ridiculous plaster statue. There was no mistaking him. She stood there, fascinated, not daring to breathe. He was himself breathing heavily, and his head was in his arms. Without believing it, she heard that he was crying. It startled her.

  Abruptly he rose, before she could sufficiently draw back. He stopped, and she heard the jangle of money in the box, and
then saw him light the candles. He lit five. They were the only candles burning there, except for one feeble one in a green glass, which guttered to and fro. He turned and their eyes met. She saw he looked quite ill. He said nothing, but strode out of the church, and by the time she had made up her mind to follow him, he was already out of sight.

  When she was safely home she sat for a long time in front of her dressing table, for she knew that now he would come to see her. She had caught him out, and he would feel it necessary to check up on her. She looked forward to the visit. Apparently Sally meant more to him than she would have believed. After dinner she went into the living-room with her coffee and settled down to wait.

  He did not arrive until ten. She was ready for him. She saw that he had come to quarrel, and so she sent the boy away. She also did not like to be overseen or overheard.

  “Where’s Sally?” he demanded.

  “That’s my affair and hers.” She looked at him calculatingly, and saw that he was truly ill. He was thinner. His face had aged rapidly even since the last time she had seen him, and his movements seemed a little desperate. “I hadn’t realized that you’d taken to churches,” she said. “I shouldn’t have thought that was quite your line.”

  “You’d no business spying on me.”

  “I wasn’t spying. I often go there.”

  He looked at her morosely, and she saw that he could not bear to be laughed at. She asked him if he had seen a doctor.

  “Why the hell should I?”

  “From the look of you, there is every reason why you should.”

  “That’s not true.”

  She was surprised at his tone. “Shall I tell you something?” she asked. “You look like death. I must say nobody would be particularly sorry. And I don’t think that a church will help you much, so that leaves a doctor. I hope you roast in hell. And that poor girl. God knows what you’d do to her in your condition.”

  He moved towards her angrily.

  Nora smiled. “If you so much as touch me, I’ll ring for the boy. He’s small, but he’s agile.”

  Christopher slumped down into a chair.

  “You’re on your way down,” said Nora. “I’ve waited a long time for that. You preposterous little wop! Do you think people ever forget anything? And I have friends. I’ll take care of you in Nevada, too.”

  Christopher did not even listen. He held his head in his hands. Looking at him, Nora was afraid he might collapse right there, which would be awkward. He raised his head and stared at her.

  “Where’s Sally?”

  “I’ve sent her away. I advised her to get a divorce.” Nora stood up. “I’ve pretended to put up with you,” she said. “I’ve even helped your silly fool of a wife. I hope you don’t get her back. Now get out.”

  For a moment she was frightened he was going to collapse. But he didn’t. It was his expression that upset her. It was pale and mad. Without another word he left the apartment. When she was sure he was really gone, she rang for the boy and had him bolt the door. For she had not told Sally the truth about herself and Christopher. She had thought she was the only one who knew what that truth was. But she had forgotten that Christopher knew it too, and in this mood he might be dangerous.

  She had forgotten, in hating him, that he could also hate her.

  XV

  It was late spring in the mountains, but Sally was far from the mountains. At most she could go to the edge of town and look at them rising abruptly green and youthful to the west. From her hotel room she could hear the clear sounds of morning. One morning like that she got up early and drove out into the desert in Curt’s car, to watch the dawn. She could smell the sagebrush around her, the dusty green odour rising pungent in the winds, as a low mist rose off the ground. For her it was a journey back in time, to a past when she had been young and had not known what a precious thing youth could be.

  She drove to the top of a tumbleweed-choked hill and parked the car. Slowly, through the glacial air, the sky began to lighten along the far horizon. Then the sun came, and the twilight broke up into scattering shadows. Somewhere ahead of her she heard the sharp bark of a coney, and the whole world burst suddenly into light. She stood on the brow of the hill, letting the cold air whip her dress, and faced the dawn.

  Twenty miles away the sun turned the grey glories of the mountains into glittering splendour, where the snow-caps shimmered against the sky. In their torrents and cataracts all the frozen winter would be released, to pour down over the earth, drawing each green leaf and bud and flower back again, even as now she had come to life again. The world was new and fresh and full of life again. Now she could face herself, and even Christopher.

  She had been in Reno for six weeks. It was the end of April. She had done nothing, and the only person she had seen was Curt, whom she had grown to like. She did not know why he had been so kind, but he had been. And she very much needed to be liked. She knew that now.

  In the beginning they had seldom spoken of Christopher. It had seemed better not to, and Curt was always tactful, in a way she would not have expected.

  She went to his apartment. It was a tiny makeshift apartment in a private house. She gathered that things were not going too well with him, and she was sorry. One day she said, “I should think Nora could help you.”

  “Nora,” he snorted. He looked at her curiously. “Do you like Nora?”

  “She was very good to me.”

  “Nora does what she wants to do, for reasons of her own. I could tell you things about her that would make your hair stand on end.”

  “Then why did she help me?”

  Curt shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “But from what I know of her, she must have had a reason. You can’t always find out what it is, but you always know it’s there.”

  He sounded bitter and he looked bitter. She wondered how she could manage to pay for the meal they were eating without his being offended. Then she discovered he was not offended: only embarrassed and irritated. They were in a coffee shop beneath huge blown-up colour photographs of Nevada.

  “I had a note from her,” she said.

  “Did she mention me?”

  “No.”

  “Then I guess she’s dropped me.” He passed a worried hand through his hair. “Do you ever feel lost?” he asked. “It’s odd how these big people think they can push you around. And the devil of it is that they can. What I mean to say is, I had a letter from Christopher. He must be pretty desperate to write to me. He wants to know how you are.”

  Sally felt dizzy. “And will you tell him?” she asked.

  “Whatever you wish.”

  “I don’t know. How is he?”

  Curt examined her closely, and there was again at the back of his eyes a spurt, if not of jealousy, then of cool envy. “Do you care?” She did not answer, and he went on with exasperation. “Well, I do. I hate the man’s guts, but I do. Perhaps you do, too. Would you ever go back to him?”

  “I don’t know,” said Sally. “A few weeks ago I’d have said no. But now I don’t know how I feel.” Somewhere in her subconscious she knew that she had already made up her mind, but she did not want to admit it, even to herself.

  “He knows where you are. He may come to see you,” said Curt. He sounded as though he were pleading for something.

  “There’s no point in running away,” she said. “Where would I run to?”

  After that they separated. She did not go back to the hotel. She turned into the green park in front of the courthouse. She wanted to think. And yet she did not want to think at all. It was late when at last she got back to the hotel, and she could not sleep. She tossed and turned, looking at her watch, and at four-thirty she got up, dressed, and sneaked out into the town. The streets were deserted and piled with the debris of the night, with cardboard crates, spilth, and broken whisky bottles. She walked towards the east, to an open place barren except for a few tall shivering aspen trees. She was back to that ceremony of waiting for the dawn. For she knew that i
f Christopher wanted her, she would go back to him, in the same way that Curt waited for him. And Curt was right. She hated him, but that made no difference. There was some attraction there deeper than love. Yet she felt blunted. She had always wanted someone to comfort and understand her and demand nothing. And now it was she who would have to understand. She would have liked someone in whose warm arms she could forget the world and all her fears. But now she had run away too often ever to be able to run away again.

  When she went back to the hotel she found a special delivery letter had come for her. She did not have to open it to know that it was from Christopher, and that she held her future in her hand. She went into the hotel coffee shop to read it. But she already knew what it contained and what she would say to him.

  *

  She waited for him in the cramped and dingy lobby, where it would be easier for them to talk, for she did not want to go to him too readily. She was there a long time before the time she had told him to come. She was consumed by an eagerness to see him that she could not explain. But she did not know what to do when he came through the doors.

  He was thinner than before, and his face was pale. He seemed to be controlling himself with an effort. Seeing her, he hesitated and then came over. “Have you been waiting long?” he asked.

  “I just came in.”

  He glanced around the lobby. “My car’s outside,” he said. “Suppose we find a better place to talk.”

  Outside in the car she hit a dead spot and could think of nothing to say. All through dinner she was aware of the strangeness of it. She thought that she could look at him impersonally. There was no denying that he was a handsome man. There was no denying, either, that he looked worse than she had ever seen him. His eyes were bloodshot and weary. Yet she enjoyed being with him again: it seemed to her natural. It was nine before they finished dinner.

  “I’m not going to say anything,” he said. “But I want to tell you I’m sorry. I’ve done a lot of thinking lately.”

  “So have I.”