Orpheus Emerged Page 3
They were walking on M street. Halfway
towards the boulevard, Paul turned in at an
iron gate and led the two others down a
short flight of stone steps to an iron grill-
work door beneath the landing of the sec-
ond floor entrance to the building. A nar-
row dusty hall led to a crude wooden door
that opened with a loud scrape against the
concrete basement floor.
Sitting on Paul’s sagging cot was a gray-
haired man of indeterminate age—he could
have been anywheres from twenty-five to
forty years old—who jumped up immediate-
ly and greeted Paul.
“Well, it’s Anthony!”
“Paul!” repeated Anthony nervously,
glancing at Leo and Arthur, who were
depositing their books on the little table in
the corner. “I came to see you about… Well,
it’s…” and Anthony could only look rather
rudely in the direction of the two students.
Paul, sensing what was up, immediately
handled the situation. “Go out and get the
sandwiches, Leo, and you too Arthur. Get
me some beer to drink with it. We’ll have
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ORPHEUS EMERGED 38
another of our provocative luncheons.. ”
“Yes,” mocked Arthur, “in these, your
luxurious chambers. All right, we’ll be back
in a minute.” And with this, Leo and Arthur
went out.
Anthony was instantly back on the couch
with his hands over his face. Paul went over
and sat at the table, and pretended to be
absorbed in the examining of the tall oil
lamp.
“I hit her!” Anthony announced, on the
point of sobbing. “This morning. I’ve been
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ORPHEUS EMERGED 39
looking for you since. I’m dying of… I can’t
face it!”
Paul smiled. “All right, all right. Let’s get
to the point of this.”
Anthony had begun to weep.
“None of that!” snapped Paul. “Till you’ve
told me the details.”
“Will you help me?”
“Of course, if I can.”
“Oh,” cried Anthony, starting to sob
again, “my brother, my brother!”
“To the point!”
“Well—” and Anthony rose to walk back
and forth across the little room.
“I struck Marie
this morning;
it was a stupid
little argument
over little
things, but she
had gotten the
best of me, and
I was suddenly
enraged at her.
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Why? Can I tell
you why? Can
anyone explain
why a man
should suddenly
strike his
wife?
By all let this be known, you know…the
brave man—killing the one you love—with
sword or kiss—in Oscar Wilde…”
“Go on!” cried Paul impatiently.
“Well—and I was a little drunk—”
“Is that all?” Paul shouted. “Then there’s
no problem. Go back to her this very
minute and kiss her hand and weep there,
not here.. ”
“I can’t do it!”
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Paul came over to Anthony and smiled at
him. “Nonsense. You can. And Marie is
accustomed to that sort of thing, anyway—
she told me so herself. You struck her, you
remember, about a month ago, when I first
met you. Did Marie hold it against you? Did
…. But this is all a waste of time. Now, Tony,
go immediately to Marie and do as I say.
And don’t be a baby!”
Anthony’s lip was quivering.
“You’re in a terribly nervous state,” Paul
added. “Otherwise you would realize how
simple the whole thing is. Are you going
now?”
Anthony hesitated. Then he started
towards the door, shuffling his feet patheti-
cally as though wishing to arouse his
friend’s sympathy. “Yes,” he said, “I am.”
“Goodbye. I’ll see you tonight.”
Anthony turned. “And we were supposed
to go to the party tonight, now everything is
terrible!—” He was almost on the verge of
crying again.
“You’ll make up, and you’ll be at the party
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ORPHEUS EMERGED 42
tonight. Goodbye! I’ll see you when you’re
not in one of your neurotic moods, then we
can have a talk about things, and enjoy a
few drinks together.”
Anthony began to chuckle. “I guess
you’re right. I’ll go now. And without the
fortitude of a drink, too. Watch me.”
“All right.” There was a minute or two of
brooding silence…
“A la vue! ” Anthony now flung carelessly.
Then he paused again: “But it’s going to be so
hard. You don’t understand me, Paul, although
you claim to. You’re too young! I’m older than
you are, and I’m more complex…”
Leo and Arthur were at the door, pushing
it in. They had packages of food with them.
Without a word, Anthony walked past them
and out, giving a show of resoluteness and
purpose. Arthur motioned his thumb after
the departing Anthony and said to Paul,
“He’s in a strange state! What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, as usual,” Paul said. “Now,
let’s eat.”
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II
AS FAR AS
MAUREEN WAS
CONCERNED,
Paul was by the way of being an unwel-
come guest in her apartment—nay, an
intruder. He was always neglected in his
habits, and left cigarette butts around the
house, sometimes in her flowerpots.
When Paul called at three o’clock that
afternoon, Michael was out.
“Where is he?”
“He went out for a walk,” answered
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ORPHEUS EMERGED 45
Michael’s mistress, disdaining to open the
door any wider. “He’s probably sitting in the
park meditating or something.”
“Well, then—” Paul reflected.
“No one is here,” Maureen added
unpleasantly. She was a woman in her late
twenties, buxom, sensual—yet strangely
maternal in her attitude towards the boy
who lived with her. At times, however, her
earthiness got the better of her maternal
instinct, and she was wont to minimize the
intellectualism of her lover.
Paul turned and started down the stairs.
Then he paused and seemed to reflect again.
“In the park,” Maureen reminded him.
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Paul turned his face up to her. “Don’t
worry, Maureen, I don’t want to come into
your
house. I was just thinking.”
“All of you are crazy,” Maureen
remarked sweepingly. She too had now
begun to reflect. “All of you. I wonder
sometimes what I’m doing here.”
The boy grinned and went down a few
more steps; then he stopped again.
“Maureen,” he said, “I won’t come into your
house if you don’t want me to. I only come to
see Michael, and if he’s not in…” Maureen
was silent. “So don’t worry. I’m leaving now.”
“Goodbye,” said Maureen. “It’s only that
you dirty up the house.”
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“Yes,”
admitted Paul,
“houses don’t
mean anything
to me. If I had
one, the wind
would blow
through it all
year, round and
it would get
all dusty and
I’d freeze to
death.”
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“All of you are crazy,” Maureen repeated.
“Back home, the kids aren’t like all of you
around here. They enjoy life, they have
good times…”
“I’m looking for Michael,” Paul put in.
“You can tell me of your past the next time I
come. I’m in a hurry now.” Maureen
slammed the door before he could finish,
and so he descended the stairs and was
presently out on the street. It was warmish
April afternoon, pregnant already with the
sunny and lyrical thaw of an early spring.
Paul walked rapidly towards the park
and scanned all the benches. He could not
find Michael on any of them. Then he went
back towards the campus, and crossed the
street to go into the Boulevard Bar. Anthony
was there, reeling in front of the counter
and holding a glass of beer in his hand.
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“This gentleman,” Anthony announced
as soon as he saw Paul, “has been kind
enough to buy me drinks this afternoon. He
is a sailor, a man of the sea.” Paul nodded to
the man who sat on a stool next to Anthony.
“Reason? Because he has a social thirst, and
craves to converse with a man well steeped,
as I am, in Western culture.”
“Largely Slavic,” said the man, whose eyes
seemed a trifle crossed, which gave him an
appearance of zaniness. “Largely Slavic!” he
repeated, for he too was drunk and repetitive.
“Your friend, sir,” he addressed to Paul, “is a
man of learning and manners.”
Paul threw a coin on the counter and
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asked for a glass of beer.
“Your friend and I have been indulging in
intellectual conversation this long afternoon,”
the man went on. “At sea, where there is but
silence and ennui, a man develops a social
thirst; and as soon as he reaches land, his first
impulse is to venture forth to meet kindred
spirits of his like, with whom to discuss and
share the various beauties of wisdom.”
Paul inwardly winced. He thought the
man insane, for a moment, although he had
a great deal of money with him. He had
extracted a large bill from his wallet, and
with a flourish, was ordering two more
drinks for himself and his friend Anthony.
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“Anthony”
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“Anthony,” Paul said. “Have you gone to
her today?”
Anthony did not answer.
“Have you?” But Anthony still did not
deign to answer.
“You bungler,” Paul hissed. “But ah—that
is you all over, that’s poor Anthony himself!”
he added gloomily.
Anthony had now turned, and he shouted
loudly and emphatically into Paul’s face; “No,
I did not go to see her!”
“All right,” Paul said, and drank down his
beer. “I’ll have to go and see her myself,
although I should be doing something else.”
“Are you?” Anthony breathed. “Are you, Paul?”
— and suddenly he had begun to sob. The sea
gentleman looked very confused at all this.
“Excuse it all,” Paul told the stranger.
“Buy Tony some more drinks. Sit him over
there in the booth, sit with him and discuss
the beauties of wisdom as you call them. I’ll
arrange everything. There’s a private matter,
you understand. Anthony’s meeting you
saved him the emotional stress of executing a
most painful…”
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“I believe,” interrupted the man, holding
up his hand with tense drama, “I believe I
begin to comprehend the entire matter. I
believe so. I see. This friend, Anthony, is
full of sorrow, and you are his friend. Very
well. I shall take care of him.”
Paul went over to Anthony, who was still
sobbing, and pulled on his ear. “Anthony,
shut up. Sit with your friend. I’m going over
to see her now and everything’ll be all right.”
Anthony now
sobbed more loud-
ly than ever,
and, having put
his hand on
Paul’s sleeve, he
was clutching it
desperately.
”You’re too good,
Paul, too good.
Your goodness
will kill you."
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“Likely!” scoffed Paul, his eyes gleaming.
“My brother, my brother,” bawled
Anthony, making no attempt to control him-
self.
Paul finished his beer and turned to the
man. “Take care of him. I’m going there
now.”
“Anthony is a man of great learning,” the
stranger pronounced. “And I understand he is a
musician of no inconsiderable talent. I shall be
honored to pay him my friendly respects for the
remainder of the afternoon, perhaps far into the
watches of the night indeed!..”
“Yes,” Paul said.
“So do not worry, young friend.
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Everything—” Here, the man hiccuped and
then turned his crossed, aimless glance
back to focus in Paul’s general direction.
“Everything is in firm hands.” Paul was cer-
tain that this man was mad. “Everything
will come safely to port. You have entrust-
ed your friend well.…”
Paul was out on the boulevard and as he
began to walk toward Marie’s house, he
caught sight of Michael emerging from a
doorway across the street.
“Michael!” he called, starting across the
street in a half-trot. But Michael, at the
same instant,
had caught sight of Paul, and
he had begun to walk away very swiftly.
Paul persisted in his chase, until Michael,
turning to see that it was hopeless, decided
to run—and run he did, so that in a few
moments, he had disappeared around a
corner and was gone.
Paul gave it up and stopped in his tracks.
He shrugged his shoulders and muttered
under his breath.
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“He will con-
tinue to be
stupid like
that. He
insists on
running away,
as though it
were in any
way possible.
It’s all a
waste of time,
that’s all I
care! Time.
He’s having
his so-called
season in
hell, ha-ha.”
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Paul walked for awhile, thinking, until
suddenly he realized that he had passed
Marie’s house. He turned and hurried back
towards his original destination. Breathless
— for all the hurrying — he arrived in the
lobby of her apartment house and glanced
at the brass plates near the buzzers. He
rang her buzzer and was soon admitted. He
went up the stairs, where Marie had already
left open her door, though she herself was
not standing in the doorway. “May I come
in?” Paul shouted through the open door.
“Of course,” answered a quiet voice,
Marie’s, from the front room.
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Marie was
wearing her
rose-colored
pajamas,seat-
ed on the
bright quilt
laid out on
the divan,
and smoking
a red-tipped
cigarette.
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The radio was on to a Bach organ fugue.
“And where is my darling?” Marie said
straight off, with mockery in her tone. “Did
you close the door?”
“I just saw him. Yes, I closed the door.
Marie—he is weeping.”
Marie snuffed down her nose contemp-
tuously. “Shut up about that weeping! Do
you think that when a thing is a rule, and
not an exception, it’ll continue to move one?