“When it becomes our master,” he said, “then are we truly lost. We are no better than clay. We are driftwood in a terrible devitalizing current. We are dead before death. Selah.”
“Hymn number 307,” said Lynn.
“Pass the plate,” Erick said.
Sally smiled, a healthy, honest smile.
“I’m glad you’re only joking,” she said, “It would be terrible if you really felt that way.”
And they all sat in silence for a moment. Lynn smiled and pushed his cigarette into the ash tray.
“Sally, let’s dance” Felix blurted quickly, wedging in his request.
She smiled at him, his date once more. “All right,” she said happily.
Erick felt a sudden iciness coursing him. He’d known all along that she was with Felix, that he was only a stranger. But he was drunk and he wanted to be more to her. And now this coldness came, spoiling his little bubble, upsetting the dream boat and he felt lonely and disgruntled.
“I want her for dance director,” he said sullenly as Sally and Felix moved off into the crowd, swallowed up in a maw of hips and stuck out arms.
Lynn looked patient. He lit another cigarette.
“Lynn,” he said with rising impatience, teeth clenching.
“For Christ’s sake,” Lynn said, “Will you give these things a little thought? Don’t go embracing the first dance director you meet.”
“You talk as if they grow on trees out here!” Erick said sharply, “What the hell do you want—Agnes De Mille to fly in from the coast?”
Lynn’s mouth took on the lines of patient disgust Erick knew so well.
“Let’s sit on it, shall we, baby?” he said.
“Oh, shit on it,” Erick said disgustedly. The he leaned back and looked out in dull belligerence at the floor. He saw them dancing. She was looking over Felix’s shoulder at him. She turned her eyes the other way quickly.
“Pretty,” Erick said softly.
“What?” Lynn said.
“I said she’s pretty,” he said, knowing it would irritate Lynn.
“In a rather obvious way,” Lynn said.
“How’s that, kiddo?” Erick asked acidly.
“I mean,” Lynn said, apparently ignoring the tone of Erick’s voice, “That there’s no subtlety to her charm. She’s uncomplicated. A prototype of the dull-thinking American woman. Legs and breasts and possessiveness.”
“Oh, horse shit,” Erick answered.
“That’s a fine answer,” Lynn said. And Erick had to go on, he felt compelled. He wouldn’t lose.
“If you dwell on visceral detail,” he said, flatly, “All girls are alike. Otherwise, they’re all different.”
“In making woman,” Lynn said, “A rib was taken away from man. Since then woman has devoted herself to taking away everything else too.”
“Unquote, Erick Linstrom,” said Erick, “And you’re still wrong.”
“Perhaps,” Lynn said, “I doubt it.”
Bored voice, argument ended. Erick let it go. He slumped back drunkenly irritable and looked out into the room without seeing any of it. He felt an urge to write so he could see how his handwriting and intelligibility showed up in the morning light.
He had never before experienced the odd sensations that being drunk made possible. The strange fuzziness in his head, the feeling that the circumference of his mental circle was coated over with some sort of numbing insulation which left the center intact and hyper-brilliant. The loss of balance, the feeling that the center of gravity in himself and in everything around him was constantly shifting, that his gyroscope was out of order. Yet all without the slightest loss of consciousness. He knew he was drunk and he was doing and saying silly things. He fully appreciated just how silly they were and he could think—I’ll stop them if they get too silly.
But they never seemed to. He realized that later.
And all this fuzziness which was moments before pleasant now became a black fuzziness. He felt disgusted with Lynn, with Lynn’s smugness and detached arrogance. He wanted to punch Lynn right in the nose. He didn’t feel like summoning up any intellectual body blows. All he could think of definitely was that Sally would be dance director or he’d take back his script. That’s how he felt. Mutely truculent, he sat there, watching his own thoughts.
* * * *
When they returned, someone came up to Felix. Erick didn’t hear exactly what was said. Something about football team and little meeting upstairs in the library and rah rah rah. Erick didn’t hear because he was staring quite frankly at Sally’s large, firmly arched breasts. He didn’t know whether she noticed at first. But Lynn did. And for some reason unknown to him, it gave Erick a perverse pleasure to see the look of wordless warning that Lynn gave him.
Felix asked her if it was all right, he’d only be gone a little while. Stag stuff. He kept using the phrase until Erick felt like holding Felix’s hand in his and gently vomiting on it. Sally told him it was perfectly all right. She understood.
“Sit here by me,” Erick said when Felix was gone, “while the cat’s away, the mouses will play.”
She hesitated, then slid in beside him and their eyes met a moment. He could smell the perfume her body breathed. It surrounded him. “Is he as bad as he pretends?” she asked Lynn. Lynn’s mouth moved a moment. Then he said, “He’s pretty awful.” He looked at Erick. “He’s ignoble,” he said.
“Oh, my God,” Erick said, “Am I ignoble?” Elation returning slowly. Felix gone, her next to him. Lynn the only dampening factor. It seemed odd that whenever he was with Lynn and a girl, he wanted Lynn to go away. He didn’t understand that either.
“Yes,” Lynn said, “You are ignoble.” And he meant it. Erick put his hand on Sally’s arm.
The flesh was warm and soft. His fingers felt sandpapered like a safecrackers hands. He could feel the delicate hairs on her arms.
“Do you think I’m ignoble?” he asked, looking into her eyes. Lynn, get out of here! his mind yelled.
She looked back at him. She looked inside. Then she smiled and he saw her throat move again.
“I don’t know,” she said, “I don’t know what you are.” “A man,” Erick said.
Lynn snickered. I’ll punch you right in the nose, Erick’s mind said slowly and calculatingly.
“You’re pretty,” he said, trying to ignore Lynn. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Now what were we talking about?” Erick asked. “Nothing,” Lynn said, pulling a cigarette case from his coat pocket. He offered one to Sally. “Cigarette, Sally?” he said casually. Erick felt himself tighten without being able to help it. “No, thank you,” Sally said, with a smile. “You mean you don’t smoke?” Erick asked. “No,” she said.
Erick leaned back, a smile twitching his lips, his hand still on her arm. He caressed it. She said not to with her eyes and he stopped.
“It’s incredible,” he said, “You’re the first girl I’ve known in a coon’s age who doesn’t smoke. Why don’t you?”
“It’s not healthy,” she said, a little nervous under his steady gaze. She glanced toward the door.
“Felix is making an end run,” Erick said, “You must not disturb him.”
She looked back at him, this time without pleasure.
“He’s a nice boy,” she said firmly.
Erick glanced away at Lynn. Lynn was bored. He was looking at the table, poking a slender finger in the wet circles his glass had made. Then, abruptly, he slid out of the booth and stood up, a faraway look on his face.
“Excuse me,” he said flatly and walked away.
“We’re alone,” Erick said, “Doesn’t that excite you?”
She was watching Lynn walk away. Erick saw her in profile and had a strong desire to press his lips against her warm, pink cheek.
Then she took his hand off her arm. She got up and sat on the other side of the booth. They looked at each other. Her face was not recriminating. Yet it was neither the warm face it had been before. The whole room seemed to fade awa
y, sight and sound, as they looked at each other. It was like looking into a crystal ball in the darkness, all surroundings disappearing.
Finally she smiled gently, unable to frown any longer.
“She has a well-proportioned face,” Erick said, “Full in all features.”
She leaned back and clasped her hands on the edge of the table.
“Clasp your hands, children,” he said.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t smile. She didn’t have to. She was still searching, he saw so he kept on talking.
“It is as though,” he said, “The molder of her features had said—Here we will hold no effort but give richly to each particular. To eyes a wide space of separation. Full pupils tinted evenly with a warm brown hue. Long even lashes to—to brush her magic with or,” he waved a finger and gazed into his own conception, “Or to hold glistening tears like dew drops on a downy wing; a slight which may well touch the heart.”
He paused. She was looking intently at him. Fall in love with me! his mind cried out in its secret place. Fall in love with me terribly, I want to break your heart!
He took a heavy breath and felt a sudden wildness pass into him. He leaned forward and rested his chin on both hands. He stared at her and kept on talking, the words tumbling out in unkempt bundles from his whirring brain.
“Wide brows,” he said, “Not thin or pinched but full and dark and of elliptical excellence. A high brow to prove the store of ken within. Healthy chestnut hair which may fall long in tangled locks upon her round, her soft-fleshed shoulders.”
He let the last words of the sentence roll of his tongue like Barrymore intoning a Shakespearian oath. She pressed her lips together and forced back a smile.
“Don’t smile,” he said, “Your face might crack.”
She couldn’t hold it. It beamed out on him like Spring and was a silent blessing.
“Don’t stop,” she said.
He went on. I’m weaving my golden web, he thought. A little boy in him chuckling. I’m throwing my net over your head and you know it not.
“A nose, not thin, with only excellence of fragile architecture. Full nostrils, a broad ridge, straightly cut which is in keeping with all. And lips …”
He pushed forward a little, saw her swallow convulsively. Saw the color in her temples again. If he hadn’t been drunk he would have stopped.
“Lips,” he said, almost fiercely, “A mouth wide enough to preclude the irksome cupid’s bow of irritable little girls. Wide enough to shape a smile which could be nothing but the warmest of smiles. Full fleshed lips of even scarlet, each shaped alike, not tiny dips of flesh but cushions of glistening plenty. Warm. Soft. And always inviting … the touch of … other lips …”
She took a sudden breath.
The sounds flooded in around them. Something had broken. The spell was gone, excess had broken the trance. She smiled, nervously now and looked around the room.
“Well, I …” she started and then stopped. He held her with his eyes. You’re going to fall in love with me, the little boy commanded. You are going to fall in love with me.
“Well, you what?” he asked. And, as she picked up her glass, he noticed that her hand shook.
“Nothing,” she said lightly. And it shook enough to show him it was forced.
“Shall I go on?” he said, with no intention of going on.
“You’d better not,” she said, “You might not know when to stop.”
“Tradition,” he said, “Rank wind in the garden.”
They were apart now. She wasn’t at ease and he didn’t care anymore. She had lost her attraction for him.
“Here comes your fullback or whatever the hell he is,” he said.
Her head turned quickly and she smiled broadly as Felix came up to her. Erick felt a twinge of anger that she should waste such a smile.
“We’re invited to another frat party,” Felix said.
Good, Erick thought, get the hell out of here and take your breasty bitch with you! Leave a poor drunkard alone. That idea appealed to him suddenly. He decided that he was doomed to be a drunkard; like father, like son, moral debility leaking from generation to generation.
Sally got up. Felix wanted to know where Lynn was and Sally didn’t know. He glanced at Erick but Erick didn’t even look up.
“Goodnight Erick,” she said, “I’m so glad I met you. Good luck on your show.”
“Goodnight,” he said, offhandedly, hardly glancing at her.
They left. He watched them disappear and felt a terrible sinking depression in his stomach. He wanted to break something violently. All excitements were gone. He emptied the glass and the drink was cold and uncomfortable in his stomach. He closed his eyes.
“Have they gone?” Lynn asked when he came back.
“No, they’ve acquired invisibility,” Erick answered.
Lynn sat down. Then got up again and got two more drinks. When he came back they sat in silence a while. Then Erick said, impulsively,
“You’re right, she’s nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“Oh?” said Lynn.
That was how Sally became the dance director.
* * * *
She was waiting for him on the porch steps of the music building.
“Hi,” she smiled. She was dressed in a light cotton dress whose pattern had pink elephants sporting delphically over her lithe body.
“Hello,” he said and they went into the building.
She walked close to him. It was the third time he’d seen her. The second time was in the drama office where all those concerned with the production met to discuss general plans. It was there she asked him to meet her on the porch so she could sit with him during tryouts.
“Good turn-out,” he commented, glancing around at the girls singing to themselves in corners, some boys and some girls taking practice turns on the creaking floor.
Lynn looked up from his front row seat as they came down the aisle. He nodded to them. Sally said hello Then she said, “Let’s sit over here.” and they moved into the third row and sat down.
“What’s the notebook for?” he asked her.
“So I can take notes,” she said.
He stuck out his lower lip. “Logical,” he said.
He smiled at her and then found himself glancing down at her knee where the dress had slipped over it.
“Where’d you get the scrape?” he asked.
“Practicing for the recital.”
“Still practicing.”
“Uh-huh. Coming to see me dance?”
“Maybe,” he said. Then, impulsively, she took his hand and put it on her knee. He felt himself start.
“Just touch it and it will be all right,” she said quietly, almost childlike. He caressed the warm skin a moment. Then, as two girls came down the aisle, he drew back.
“A most seemly knee,” he said, pretending aloofness. When he looked back at her, her eyes seemed to draw him in. Her lips pursed slightly and a heavy breath made her shoulders quiver.
“You have goose pimples,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, “That’s what you do to me.”
He looked at her questioningly. A girl had never spoken that way to him before. It was only the third time they were together. They hadn’t held hands, they hadn’t walked together, had a date, done any of the things that were accredited as—going together.
Yet she said that.
* * * *
The evening went fast, a quick round of watching people dance, hearing them try to sing, listening to them attempt titillation, with their pseudo-comical dialogues.
Erick kept looking at Sally during the evening. She was taking notes busily. But never too busily not to stop and give him a warm smile. As though, for a moment, all the world would have to stop so she could smile at him.
Before the night was over, he had walked her to the bus and, after she had mentioned a concert by the University Orchestra that Sunday and how much she wanted to hear it, he had asked her to go with
him.
* * * *
He was supposed to call for her about three. The concert started at four. He spent the morning reading a book on comparative religion, having several months before given up church-going completely after making the rounds of every church in town, looking for one that satisfied him.
After reading, he went out for lunch, then came back and napped until two fifteen. He got up, went to the bathroom, and cleaned up, washing out his sleepridden eyes.
Back in the room he sat down at the desk and clenched his teeth, drawing back the lips from them. He checked the time with his watch. Two twenty.
He got up and put his tie on. While he was adjusting the knot he saw on the bureau a story he had just finished writing. He picked it up, ran his eyes over the first page.
Then he dropped it and went out into the hall. He picked up the phone and dialed her number. Buzz-click-buzz-click. He heard the receiver lifted.
“Hello,” she said.
“Sally?”
“Yes.” Rising sound as though she were suddenly engrossed and anxious to know who it was.
“Erick.”
“Hello.” As though he hadn’t seen her for a year. Then, anxiously, “Something wrong?”
“No, no, I thought, well, I have a story I just … finished. And I thought you might, I mean …” He caught himself irritably, “I’d like your opinion of it.”
“Well,” she said, “Leo is sleeping.”
“Oh. Who’s that, your house mate?”
“Yes.”
“Leo?”
She snickered a little. “Short for Leonora, dear,” she said.
“Oh. Oh, well never mind about the story then. I don’t …”
“No, you come out,” she said.
“Sure?” he asked.
“Come out, Erick.”
“Okay. I’ll be right over.”
“All right,” she said, “Bye.”
“Solong.”
He put down the receiver and went back to his room. There he put on his suit and put the story in an envelope. He left the room and went down the comer for the bus. In a moment it turned a far corner and then jolted to a stop in front of him. He stepped on and the doors folded shut behind him.
Hunger and Thirst Page 33
