The exterior of Martin Kesserich's home--a weathered white cube with
narrow, sharp-paned windows, topped by a cupola--was nothing like its
lavish interior.
In much the same way, Mrs. Kesserich clashed with the darkly gleaming
furniture, persian rugs and bronze vases around her. Her shapeless
black form, poised awkwardly on the edge of a huge sofa, made Jack
think of a cow that had strayed into the drawing room. He wondered
again how a man like Kesserich had come to marry such a creature.
Yet when she lifted up her little eyes from the shadows, he had the
uneasy feeling that she knew a great deal about him. The eyes were
still those of a domestic animal, but of a wise one that has been
watching the house a long, long while from the barnyard.
He asked abruptly, "Do you know anything of a girl around here named
Mary Alice Pope?"
The silence lasted so long that he began to think she'd gone into some
bovine trance. Then, without a word, she got up and went over to a tall
cabinet. Feeling on a ledge behind it for a key, she opened a panel,
opened a cardboard box inside it, took something from the box and
handed him a photograph. He held it up to the failing light and sucked
in his breath with surprise.
It was a picture of the girl he'd met that afternoon. Same
flat-bosomed dress--flowered rather than white--no bandeau, same beads.
Same proud, demure expression, perhaps a bit happier.
"That is Mary Alice Pope," Mrs. Kesserich said in a strangely flat
voice. "She was Martin's fiancee. She was killed in a railway accident
in 1933."
The small sound of the cabinet door closing brought Jack back to
reality. He realized that he no longer had the photograph. Against the
gloom by the cabinet, Mrs. Kesserich's white face looked at him with
what seemed a malicious eagerness.
"Sit down," she said, "and I'll tell you about it."
Without a thought as to why she hadn't asked him a single question--he
was much too dazed for that--he obeyed. Mrs. Kesserich resumed her
position on the edge of the sofa.
"You must understand, Mr. Barr, that Mary Alice Pope was the one love
of Martin's life. He is a man of very deep and strong feelings, yet as
you probably know, anything but kindly or demonstrative. Even when he
first came here from Hungary with his older sisters Hani and Hilda,
there was a cloak of loneliness about him--or rather about the three of
them.
"Hani and Hilda were athletic outdoor women, yet fiercely proud--I
don't imagine they ever spoke to anyone in America except as to a
servant--and with a seething distaste for all men except Martin. They
showered all their devotion on him. So of course, though Martin didn't
realize it, they were consumed with jealousy when he fell in love with
Mary Alice Pope. They'd thought that since he'd reached forty without
marrying, he was safe.
"Mary Alice came from a pure-bred, or as a biologist would say, inbred
British stock. She was very young, but very sweet, and up to a point
very wise. She sensed Hani and Hilda's feelings right away and did
everything she could to win them over. For instance, though she was
afraid of horses, she took up horseback riding, because that was Hani
and Hilda's favorite pastime. Naturally, Martin knew nothing of her
fear, and naturally his sisters knew about it from the first. But--and
here is where Mary's wisdom fell short--her brave gesture did not
pacify them: it only increased their hatred.
"Except for his research, Martin was blind to everything but his love.
It was a beautiful and yet frightening passion, an insane cherishing as
narrow and intense as his sisters hatred."
* * * * *
With a start, Jack remembered that it was Mrs. Kesserich telling him
all this.
She went on, "Martin's love directed his every move. He was building a
home for himself and Mary, and in his mind he was building a wonderful
future for them as well--not vaguely, if you know Martin, but year by
year, month by month. This winter, he'd plan, they would visit Buenos
Aires, next summer they would sail down the inland passage and he would
teach Mary Hungarian for their trip to Buda-Pesth the year after, where
he would occupy a chair at the university for a few months ... and so
on. Finally the time for their marriage drew near. Martin had been
away. His research was keeping him very busy--"
Jack broke in with, "Wasn't that about the time he did his definitive
work on growth and fertilization?"
Mrs. Kesserich nodded with solemn appreciation in the gathering
darkness. "But now he was coming home, his work done. It was early
evening, very chilly, but Hani and Hilda felt they had to ride down to
the station to meet their brother. And although she dreaded it, Mary
rode with them, for she knew how delighted he would be at her cantering
to the puffing train and his running up to lift her down from the
saddle to welcome him home.
"Of course there was Martin's luggage to be considered, so the station
wagon had to be sent down for that." She looked defiantly at Jack. "I
drove the station wagon. I was Martin's laboratory assistant."
She paused. "It was almost dark, but there was still a white cold
line of sky to the west. Hani and Hilda, with Mary between them, were
waiting on their horses at the top of the hill that led down to the
station. The train had whistled and its headlight was graying the
gravel of the crossing.
"Suddenly Mary's horse squealed and plunged down the hill. Hani and
Hilda followed--to try to catch her, they said, but they didn't manage
that, only kept her horse from veering off. Mary never screamed, but as
her horse reared on the tracks, I saw her face in the headlight's glare.
"Martin must have guessed, or at least feared what had happened, for he
was out of the train and running along the track before it stopped. In
fact, he was the first to kneel down beside Mary--I mean, what had been
Mary--and was holding her all bloody and shattered in his arms."
A door slammed. There were steps in the hall. Mrs. Kesserich stiffened
and was silent. Jack turned.
The blur of a face hung in the doorway to the hall--a seemingly young,
sensitive, suavely handsome face with aristocratic jaw. Then there was
a click and the lights flared up and Jack saw the close-cropped gray
hair and the lines around the eyes and nostrils, while the sensitive
mouth grew sardonic. Yet the handsomeness stayed, and somehow the
youth, too, or at least a tremendous inner vibrancy.
"Hello, Barr," Martin Kesserich said, ignoring his wife.
The great biologist had come home.