Orpheus Emerged Read online

  Ghastly!”

  “Marie, you’re cruel—but sensitive.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Marie, you must realize that Anthony is

  not a well man. He’s a lot like I am now, you

  see, but of course, of course, he doesn’t

  have what I have. He’s searching, you see…

  I’ve my Helen, and—”

  “Stop babbling,” interrupted the girl.

  “Do you realize,”

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  “Do you realize,” Paul went on uncon-

  cernedly, throwing himself on the divan next

  to Marie, “that love is painful, that it makes a

  man like Anthony suffer? Oh, I know, I

  know—it’s all the pain of happiness. But he is

  the weeping kind. And do you realize, my

  dear, that if he is weak, he can do nothing

  about it? So he hit you this morning! … and for

  that little slap in the face, he’s endured upon

  himself an eight-hour session of imponder-

  able sorrow, unspeakable angoisse.”

  “You crazy child!”

  “Does your face hurt? Does your face

  hurt?”

  “Shut up.”

  “His heart is broken, Marie you diaboli-

  cal witch!..”

  “You came here to call me names?”

  “Yes, because I love you.”

  Marie got up from the couch and threw

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  ORPHEUS EMERGED 61

  her cigarette out the open window. Then

  she stopped in front of the radio and

  laughed.

  “Ha ha,” mocked Paul, getting up also. “It’s

  just that I love you enough to want you to love

  Anthony, and I know Anthony well…”

  “My God!” cried Marie. “You’re mad,

  aren’t you?”

  “No, no.”

  They were silent, and Paul began to pace

  the rooms.

  “Now,” he said at length. “I come to see

  you as Anthony’s envoy, to tell you that he is

  weak, and that he’s sorry, and that nothing

  matters but that you love him as he loves

  you. Can you do that? Can you do that?”

  “Can I do that?” Marie echoed contemp-

  tuously. “Have you eaten lately?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll heat you some soup. You’re in a

  delirium.”

  Marie went off into the kitchen, with Paul

  right at her heels, talking furiously. “Marie, will

  you forgive him? Oh, this waste of time!! People

  waste all their time. They’re alive for just so

  long, and they waste their time on recrimina-

  tions and retributions and all such nonsense.

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  Wait, you’ll

  find out all

  about me some

  day, and

  you’ll realize

  what I’m say-

  ing. You

  might meet my

  Helen...

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  Give me some soup, yes, and some bread. I

  am rather hungry…”

  Marie was calmly giving him a piece of

  bread, and removing a soup bowl from the

  cupboard. The soup was heating on the

  stove.

  “A lovely kitchen,” Paul was saying. “Tell

  me, Marie. What shall I do? Shall I get

  Anthony, sober him up, and bring him

  here?”

  “No. He’s got to come of his own accord.”

  “Then my words have done some good?!..

  haven’t they?”

  “No, not your words. I love my husband.

  We’d have made up eventually. I dare say

  we don’t need your help, either.”

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  “Ha ha!” cried Paul. “I’m a time saver…”

  “Balderdash!”

  Paul sat at the little table and took the

  spoon Marie had offered him. “You see,” he

  cried, “I’ve done some good. I’ve saved

  time. Accept Anthony, accept him…he’s a

  good man, a wonderful soul. He’s weeping

  in the Boulevard Bar now, because he

  struck you…”

  “You nor anyone else can’t patch up our

  troubles,” Marie said, placing the steaming

  bowl of soup before the hungry Paul.

  “Anthony strikes me…it’s his problem. No

  one else can help. That’s why he weeps,

  you little fool, because he realizes that he

  alone is guilty.”

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  “It’s you”

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  “And you?”

  “I, of course, have my share of guilt. And

  it’s none of your business, little Jesus Christ.

  I’m restless and intolerant, and I never

  seem to have made up my mind one way or

  another about Anthony. Well…”

  Paul slurped up several spoonfuls of

  soup and then jumped up. “Now I’ve got to

  go. I’m pressed for time, goodbye, and look

  I’ll take this bread with me. Thank you…”

  And suddenly, Paul had walked out of the

  kitchen and was gone.

  Marie picked up the bowl from the table

  and emptied the soup in the sink. She went to

  the door and closed it, for Paul had forgotten to

  close it in his haste. Then she went back to her

  divan and sat down with a freshly-lit cigarette.

  She was smiling secretly.

  The buzzer rang again and she thought it

  was Paul rushing back to say something

  further. But a few moments later, Michael

  knocked at the door and walked in.

  “It’s you,” Marie said.

  “You coming to the party tonight?”

  Michael asked outright.

  “Sit down,” Marie said. “Yes, I suppose

  so. You must remember that it’s Maureen’s

  party.”

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  “I don’t care. I want to see you.”

  “You and your inconvenient remarks,”

  Marie said.

  “Well? And who cares?” Michael had sat

  down in a chair in the other room and was

  watching Marie gloomily. There was a

  silence during which nothing further need-

  ed to be said.

  “I’ve fixed up a little apartment in the

  Quarter,” Michael finally said. “I expect you

  soon.” His tone was firm, but gloomy.

  Marie did not reply. She was watching

  him with something of weariness in her

  demeanor. Finally, she said: “What do you

  expect of me?”

  “I only expect you to be sensible.”

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  “What? You

  want me to

  leave my

  husband for

  a while! You

  call that

  sensible?”

  “Of course.

  For both of

  us. I desire

  you, that’s

  all there is.”

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  “And suppose I didn’t desire you, as you

  so romantically put it?"

  “Why can�
��t you?”

  “I don’t think you’re capable of a decent

  affair, that’s why I can’t. You neurotics are

  all the same as lovers. Foo! Go home!”

  Michael began to smile sardonically.

  “How can you be so sure?” he asked. “I

  know, I know also by the expression on your

  face that the idea appeals to you. You know

  that I have money and that we can have the

  best for as long as we want it to last. You

  also need a change, I can sense that in your

  voice.”

  “Nonsense.”

  Michael got up, and, without a word,

  walked out of the apartment. He left Marie

  in a very pensive mood.

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  III

  IN THAT LAND,

  the biggest holiday of the year occurs on

  the 27th of April, which is usually the first

  fine day of spring, and if not—the weather

  being unfavorable—it is at least a day

  breathing with the first sharply defined

  odor of spring, and rife with its gentleness.

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  Now, Maureen had planned a party for

  the eve of the Spring Day, and all that day—

  even during Paul’s unwelcome visit—she’d

  been very busy preparing the apartment for

  the festivities. Michael had given her some

  money with which to buy things to prettify

  the rooms, and also for hors d’oeuvres and

  such things as are served at parties.

  Maureen had taken great care in setting

  out flowers throughout the house, for she

  loved flowers, and candles, and brightly col-

  ored bowls full of nuts and candies.

  It was seven o’clock before she allowed

  herself time to sit down and rest. By that

  time, Michael was back from his afternoon

  stroll, and was deeply absorbed in his writ-

  ing. The invitations had been send out, and

  their friends would start coming sometime

  around nine o’clock.

  “And dinner?” Michael demanded, look-

  ing up from his desk. Maureen gave him a

  beseeching look. “It’s out we go for dinner,

  then,” Michael concluded. He was in good

  spirits now, and had just written some lines

  that met with his judged approval; and just

  the night before, he had completed a philo-

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  sophical essay of which he was inordinately

  proud. “Come,” he said now, “let’s go down

  to a good restaurant—how about the

  Lobster Shack?—and have something deli-

  cious to eat. Lobster, steamed clams, any-

  thing you like.”

  They went to dinner and, as they were

  crossing the campus, Leo accosted them.

  “Well, well—hello. And the big party

  tonight, I’ve got my invitation with me right

  here. I’ve just wound up my studies, and I

  was on my way over to your place now.

  Thought it wouldn’t be out of place to come

  a little early.”

  “It would,” Michael replied gruffly.

  “Maureen and I are going to eat. She’s been

  preparing the apartment all day.”

  “Well, can I accompany you to the

  restaurant? I’ve nothing else to do.

  Although I’ve already eaten…”

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  Michael smiled shyly. “All right, Leo.”

  Each time he was gruff to Leo, and each

  time that the other yielded so stickily, he

  became ashamed of himself. He was not a

  sadist, not Michael except where it gave

  him pleasure, and for that his attacks need-

  ed a contained resistance of a sort, such as

  Maureen offered him.

  They had dinner while Leo drank coffee

  and babbled endlessly about his studies and

  about Paul. Maureen was in a pleasant

  mood, and she was enjoying her lobster

  thermidor and paying no attention to Leo.

  “Now,” she said at length, “we’ll go back,

  and I’ll get things done for good. Oh

  Michael darling,” she said, while Leo was

  off to buy cigarettes at the counter of the

  restaurant, “say that you love me.”

  “Just for today? Spring Day eve?”

  “No, for always.” Maureen squeezed

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  Michael’s hand beneath the table. She was

  ten years older than Michael, and each time

  that she squeezed his hand in a public

  place, it reminded Michael unpleasantly of

  his mother, and of the way that she too used

  to show affection in public places. “Are you

  happy?” she asked.

  “Certainly. You’re a fine woman,

  Maureen; and I love you very much.”

  “Say that you’ll never go away from me.”

  “I’ll never go away from you,” Michael

  said. Sometimes, when they were in bed,

  she would make Michael repeat those

  words over and over again while she held

  his head in her bosom and rocked it back

  and forth. Michael, by nature very non-

  committal, could always cope with these sit-

  uations by the sheer weight of his general

  indifference towards life.

  “I wish,” went on Maureen wistfully,

  “that we could fall in love like those two,

  Anthony and that Marie.”

  “Do you think so?” Michael asked, frown-

  ing. “Look at poor Anthony…”

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  “I wish”

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  “I know, but it’s that witch of his, Marie—

  even though I can’t see what she sees in him,

  he’s such a drunkard and a pest sometimes.”

  Leo was back. “Come on,” he said, “let’s

  go out while it’s still light, and take a little

  walk.”

  They went out and strolled around the

  campus. Michael had bought a cigar and

  was puffing it contentedly. He was already

  on fire with a new poem—he would go right

  straight to bed, now, and prop up on some

  pillows and write it.

  It was just sundown when they had

  returned to X Street. A bird was sitting on the

  top branch of a small poplar in front of their

  apartment house entrance. Michael stopped

  and looked up at the bird.

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  Leo laughed. “Hail to thee, blithe spirit…”

  “No,” cried Michael, “quiet, Leo. Listen to

  him? Do you remember what I was telling

  you about the impulse of God? The sparrow

  there is expressing it. He knows. Listen!”

  “My God,” said Maureen. “Are we going

  to stand here for hours listening to the

  impulse of God?”

  “Of course not,” said Michael, with some

  annoyance. “I’m sleepy. I’m going to take a

/>   nap before the party begins. Listen to the

  sparrow. Its imagination is filled with God…”

  They all three were silent as the bird

  trilled. Michael smiled secretly. He looked

  up at the street and saw, over the library roof,

  the last faint hues of the sunset. “The bird,”

  he went on, “is singing the song of dusk, on

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  Spring Day eve. Could there be more per-

  fect happiness? Not just to be expressing,

  but to be your expression. Isn’t that love?

  Isn’t that life?” he now asked harshly of

  Leo. “Isn’t that more than human love,

  than human life, more, much more?”

  “Foo!” said Maureen. “Let’s go up.”

  “What do you mean?” Leo asked, showing

  eager interest, and lighting up a cigarette.

  Michael began, “I mean—” But Maureen

  had clutched at his arm.

  “Look,” she whispered. “There’s that Paul.”

  Michael and Leo turned nervously in the

  direction she had indicated with her head.

  Paul was standing in the shadows of a door-

  way just a few feet away watching them.

  There was a brief silence, during which the

  bird too had interrupted its song.

  “Well?” Maureen said warily.

  “What are you doing there?” laughed

  Leo. “You’re a ghost; you hover in door-

  ways. Come here. Are you coming to the

  party tonight?”

  Paul did not answer, nor did he move

  away from the doorway.

  “Are you?”

  “I wasn’t invited,” he said quietly and

  casually.

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  Michael turned to Maureen, but kept his

  tongue. Leo fell into an embarrassed silence.

  “Of course,” Paul went on quietly from

  his doorway, “of course, my not being invit-

  ed has nothing to do with anything. You all

  know me well, and my ways. I may walk

  into the middle of the party, and no one will

  object. It’s only Paul, they’ll say, and he does

  things like that…”

  “That’s right,” Michael interrupted in a

  surly tone. “So why do you have to bemoan

  that part of it.”

  Paul smiled and began to walk away up X