Chapter XII

The brain, thought Marta, is gone, utterly gone; I am rather hungry, but it seems of no consequence what ever. . . . When Chris took her to dinner, the crucial occasion, she remembered, he enquired if she would have some more celery; and she regarded the empty dish and asked in turn, was that celery? There was a Lady of Roussillon who ate her lover's heart unaware, served to her by her jealous husband; then he told her, saying: Do you like it? and she answered: Very much; naught else would have any relish after such delicate. fare; and she flung herself from the tower. Now why did that come to me, Marta pondered; it wasn't what I was trying to bring back, but near it. Ah, it was what Trix O'Neill had said, poor Trix, whose best fortune was her early death. When she called Marta Ariel, and then retracted it. Trix put her hand to her forehead and said slowly: Something eats your heart, do you know what? Marta said: Tell me. And Trix said: It is yourself. And They ask: Do you like the taste? . . . Marta thought, we three have eaten our hearts) and that is why we understand one another. . . . But this would be nonsense if I said it aloud; it is one of those things the poets must say for us, for prose will not contain it; poetry is a sepa rate language.

148 N EVE R ASK. THE END Russ trusted that the golf hotel might have room for them, and fatalistically refrained from pursuing the enquiry by telephone. It was simpler, in his imme diate mood, to let Albert drive them there. Albert believed he knew where the hotel was. His confidence was misplaced. They drove on and on through the long serene twilight, toward a phantom castle upon a receding hill top, which they assumed must be the hotel. Over taken at last, it proved to be a ruin. By dead reckon ing and baffiing colloquies with indifferent peasants, they came to the conclusion that they had overshot the mark. Albert grew visibly nervous, and Russ assured him several times that the detour didn't matter. Pri vately Russ added to Marta and Pauline: "He hasn't been on the right road once today." The right road for where, Marta enquired, after due cogitation. For anywhere, said Russ. "But we weren't going anywhere, were we?" she propounded. Except the Chateau d'Ardennes, which wouldn't have taken them in if they had got there ... Logic and reason, she con cluded, are useless in the conduct of life.

They might have to sleep under a hedge, said Russ. They said that would be lovely. It seems there was a travelling man, said Marta idiotically; and they were seized with a giggling fit, slumping together against the cushions in a general collapse from lack of nourish ment, fatigue, and loss of morale. "Maybe I planned this," said Russ. "You are completely in my power. You'd have a long walk back." "I have no intention N EVE R ASK THE END 149 of walking back," said Pauline. Albert turned, slightly alarmed by the untimelyhilarityand increasinglyhar assed at having gone astray. He now held the opinion that a crossroad they had passed fifteen minutes ago· led to the hotel. They agreed that it did. "Don't worry," Marta resumed to Russ. "I'm sorry to have to give her away, because it is impossible to defend oneself against the imputation of virtue, but Pauline is really a good woman." ('I am not," said Pauline indignantly.

"1t's not your fault)'" said Marta, in fairness. "It is your misfortune that you were born with an innate passion for the conventions. This inhibits your other natural impulses, so that you have to find a lofty motive before you can go ahead-and then of course you are obliged to proceed in the opposite direction." "I do not," said Pauline, not quite certain what she didn't do. ('Why should you accuse me of such hor rible motives?J) "Me?" said Marta innocently. leAlI I said was that you always Acted for the Best." Pauline could only protest: "You've got me so mixed up-" But is it true, she began to wonder; and at dinner, she admitted there might be an element of truth in the charge. The crossroad actually led to the hotel. They dined in the atmosphere of disapproval evoked by latecomers to a table d'h8te, with the waiters hurrying in warmed over dishes, anxious to be off duty. An Englishman in 150 N EVE R ASK THE END knickers, solitary at the further end of the spacious salle, did his bit toward deepening the depression. He isn't stuffed, Marta whispered, he moved one foot.

They "set" that way when they sight Americans. Pauline choked; the lone Englishman reminded her slightly of David. (CYou're right, as usual," she said suddenly. ((But it's too much, the way you take every thing to pieces. And are right about everything." "My epitaph," said Marta, ('will be: She was right, as usual. But 1 will impart my secret to you. If it's statistics, I make 'em up as I go along; and if it's facts, 1 rapidly tell people something else in place of what they were talking about. Like Heine; when he had no news to write to Berlin, he recited the names of the seven chamberlains of King Ahasuerus. But what do you mean I was right about?" "How I invent motives," said Pauline. "0£ course," said Marta soothingly. "We all do. But it's not true that everyone has two reasons for every action-the real reason and the reason they give themselves. Because both reasons are real." Pauline continued: "The wo man who comes in to get dinner for me and Jimmy is a widow, Mrs. Hanley, with flocks of children. Her oldest girl finished business college lately, and couldn't find work; times have been slack. I spoke to David of this deserving widow and what a help it would be to her if the girl had a job. David expanded his chest and said I was so sympathetic, and he'd speak to the man ager of a company he had an interest in. They took N EVE R ASK THE END lSI the girl on. I told David how kind he was, and he said it was nothing; and Mrs. Hanley burst into tears and said David was a true gentleman-he loathes hear ing other people's troubles or about the poor! -and she'd never forget it. I hoped she wouldn't, for I had pulled the wires so she'd be grateful and not let me down about feeding Jimmy when I want to go out to dinner with David."

"Never mind," said lVlarta, "you're a much nicer person than I am. And Russ-what he's thinking this minute would make you call the police." He met her eyes, and though the mask was up, he colored percep tibly. "I guess Liege is our best bet," he said. He won; the Hotel del'Europe took them in when they reached Liege again, after ten o'clock. The night concierge was patient with their unreasonable demand for three rooms with baths. Three baths?-he had only two, and left them to settle the allotment, Russ offering the use of his bath to the loser. Late as it was, they couldn't bring themselves to part abruptly. After extensive wanderings about the deserted halls, they found themselves in Pauline's room. "They don't seem to care in this hotel," said Pauline, shedding her hat thankfully. Marta established her self on the bed, for a final cigarette. ':'1t would be no place for Ernest. Anything might happen."

((Not to Ernest," said Marta. "He is a moral man. That's why he is moral, because nothing would happen to him."

152 N EVE R ASK THE END Russ said: "I'm not sure-l suspect that Ernest and Caroline aren't always strictly moral." Marta ex hibited acute interest: "Which of them-with whom?" "Both," said Russ, "with each other." Marta sat up and draped herself over the footboard avidly. "You shock me. I must know all." Pauline moved her chair: "Let us draw closer." "What do you suspect?" 1\1arta demanded. "Can such things be? Give us the revolting details. When, where and how? I can bear anything but suspense. Just an outline-to beginwith." "Well, Ernest had a nervous breakdown. And the doctor prescribed two months in a sanatorium-with out Caroline." "But that wouldn't give him a nervous breakdown," Marta argued, (Cif [ know what you mean." "Wouldn't it?" Russ paused fo~ further consid eration. ((Be reasonable," Marta urged. ((You know for your self, there's nothing like a-a bad conscienceto induce untroubled slumber and a good appetite."

"Then why did he have a nervous breakdown?" Russ enquired reasonably. Marta answered: "Can't you see? It's ghastly; they hate each other. They don't know it themselves; they don't dare let themselves know it; they don't know the difference. But of course they hate each other." ccyou may be right as usual," Russ said. (CIt was N EVE R ASK THE END 153 after Ernest tried to murder Caroline that he was sent to the sanatorium." "After he tried to murder-" Marta and Pauline ceased, gazing into abyssesof horror. Ernest and Caro line have children, Marta thought. Recovering by degrees, she asked faintly for precise particulars. Russ was not in a position to vouch for the accuracy of con flicting accounts of the episode; whether Ernest had choked Caroline, or endeavored to throw her out of a window, or both. The sanatorium enabled friends and physicians to hush up the story; Ernest was demon strably ill. "Ernest never referred to it directly," said Russ. "But he did tell me that only his religion had saved him."

No appropriate comment occurred to Marta or Pau line. "1 need rest," said Marta. "Good. night," she faded unobtrusively toward the door. Russ, she thought, might be glad of a few minutes' grace to say goodnight to Pauline. Let Pauline take the trick; though nothing of itself, it had an ulterior significance for her. Russ missed his cue and rose; did Marta know the way to her room? It's awkward, thought Marta, walk ing beside him down the dim corridor; as far as Russ is concerned Pauline and I might be Siamese twins. She can't move either; the situation is set. Go on, be a lady.. . . . Russ drew his hand from his pocket ab sently: "I've carried off Pauline's key." The infini tesimal pinprick she felt startled Marta. Oh, yeah, a "154 N EVE R ASK THE END lady! More than queen of cats! Just for that, you'll eat it and like it.... They were at her door; she said, ((Come in," and while searching for words, as elusive as blown thistledown, she pulled the curtains, took a cigarette from her handbag. Russ's gesture, as he of fered a light, caught her attention. "You're very tired, aren't you?" She heard herself saying it, felt simul taneously) with utter consternation, the blush that rose to the roots of her hair. Russ stood smiling and look ing at her. "Pretty tired,)) he s~id.

"Would you like-" she began again-damn! Both feet. . •. "I mean, Pauline-isn't she good r company?" "She's a peach," said Russ. Marta advanced in a vacuum. "She had a ridiculous notion of going to Berlin alone; she fancied you asked her here out of politeness. I told her you made a point of inviting her, were delighted." Idiot, she addressed herself. "Of course I was," said Russ, obviously deriving some private merriment from the colloquy, though of what nature Marta failed to determine. "So I thought may be you'd like to take Pauline to lunch or something • • .without me . . . When we are back in Antwerp, or in London ..••It would give her a different impres sion-besides, you might want to yourself-" You meant well, she concludedsilently. Now, Russ thought, what is the little devil up to? . . . And Marta thought, that's torn it. He has no idea why it matters to Pauline. I can't recite the story of our lives to him in five minutes. It would sound even N, EVE R ASK THE END 155 more feeble-minded to explain that he's to take Pauline to lunch because eighteen' years ago Pauline was in love with Keith and I married him and therefore it would encourage her to go ahead and marry David for his own best interests. So beautifully simple ..• Ask me next, do you care for celery? .•.

"Are you trying to hand me over to Pauline?" He let down the mask; he was teasing her. The whole affair was past mending; she could only laugh and laugh. "Over my dead body! I said for lunch-" "Or something," Russ prompted. Check, thought Marta, you can call and raise him; he isn't eeJamais;I'd speak for myself. Only my religion saves me, like Ernest. Look here, you won't breathe to Pauline that I suggested lunch-or anything? She'd slay me." She laid her hand on his sleeve, rather anxiously; and he put his arm around her, kissing her cheek. It was an answer. But he turned in the doorway, showing what he still held in his hand. "I'll have to take back Pau line's key." Left alone, Marta put both hands to her head. If there's any way of making it worse, she thought, no doubt it will occur to me later. What can he suppose except that I was -Oh, well, what of it? Cheer him up a bit. I haven't got ten thousand dollars but your proposition interests me, as the man said when the Black Hand threatened to kidnap his wife.... And mayhe I was ... No, I did mean well, so whatever he 156 N EVE R ASK THE END thinks, it's coming to me ... Oh, hell, of course I would if . . . There again, to elucidate that if would take volumes, .libraries. . ..

She had left her book in Pauline's room; she was used to reading herself to sleep. Impossible to go and get it. The reason why not, she thought, would fill volume forty . . • These square European pillows are a nUisance ... You'll never know, thought Russ ••. I believe she would ... This was the number; he rapped discreetly. "Who is it?" Pauline called ... There was a curious pleasure, too subtle to be sensual, in listening to the almost inaudible sounds of a woman dressing hastily, bare feet light on the carpet, the sigh of silk. Pauline ap peared, clasping a yellow brocade kimono over her breast, her eyes bright and startled. "OhI" she said. He held out the key: "Sorry. I took it away by mis take." "Th-thank you," she said. The door shut agaln. Pauline wouldn't, thought Russ. But Marta You can be fairly sure if they won't, but not whether they will ... She didn't come EO breakfast at the Wal dart . , . In his own room, he didn't bother to turn on the light. A moonbeam glimmered across the mirror; he shrugged and uttered an inarticulate sound. You bet you'd do it allover again, he said to himself ....

Commencing immediately ...