one of these examinations. “I would say, yes; sometimes I knew you
were talking to me, or Hodge.” Here she looked at me steadily for an
instant, to make me feel both remorseful and proud. “But it was like
someone talking a long way off, so I never quite understood, nor was
even sure it was I who was being spoken to. Often—at least it seemed
often, perhaps it was not—often, I tried to speak, to beg you to tell
me if you were real people talking to me, or just part of a dream. That
was very bad, because when no words came I was more afraid than ever,
and when I was afraid the dream became darker and darker.”
Afterward, looking cool and fresh and strangely assured, she came upon
me while I was cultivating young corn. A few weeks earlier I would have
known she had sought me out; now it might be an accident.
“But I knew more surely when it was you who spoke, Hodge,” she said
abruptly. “In my dream you were the most real.” Then she walked
tranquilly away.
Barbara, who had studiedly said nothing further about what Midbin was
doing, commented one day, apparently without rancor, “So Oliver appears
to have proved a theory. How nice for you.”
“What do you mean?” I inquired guardedly; “How is it nice for me?”
“Why, you won’t have to chaperone the silly girl all over any more. She
can ask her way around now.”
“Oh yes; that’s right,” I mumbled.
“And we won’t have to quarrel over her any more,” she concluded.
“Sure,” I said. “That’s right.”
Mr Haggerwells again communicated with the Spanish diplomats, recalling
his original telegram and mentioning the aloof reply. He was answered
in person by an official who acted as though he himself had composed
the disclaiming response. Perhaps he had, for he made it quite clear
that only devotion to duty made it possible to deal at all with such
savages as inhabited the United States.
He confirmed the existence of one Catalina García and consulted a
photograph, carefully shielded in his hand, comparing it with the
features of our Catalina, at last satisfying himself they were the
same. This formality finished, he spoke rapidly to Catalina in Spanish.
She shook her head and looked confused. “Tell him I can hardly
understand, Hodge; ask him to speak in English, please.”
The diplomat looked furious. Midbin explained hastily that the shock
which had caused her muteness had not entirely worn off. Unquestionably
she would recover her full memory in time, but for the present there
were still areas of forgetfulness. Her native language was part of the
past, he went on, happy with a new audience, and the past was something
to be pushed away since it contained the terrible moment. English on
the other hand—”
“I understand,” said the diplomat stiffly, resolutely addressing
none of us. “It is clear. Very well then. The Señorita García is
heir—heiress to an estate. Not a very big one, I regret to say. A
moderate estate.”
“You mean land and houses?” I asked curiously.
“A moderate estate,” he repeated, looking attentively at his gloved
hand. “Some shares of stock, some bonds, some cash. The details will be
available to the señorita.”
“It doesnt matter,” said Catalina timidly.
Having put us all, and particularly me, in our place as rude and nosey
barbarians, he went on more pleasantly, “According to the records of
the embassy, the señorita is not yet eighteen. As an orphan living in
foreign lands she is a ward of the Spanish Crown. The señorita will
return with me to Philadelphia where she will be suitably accommodated
until repatriation can be arranged. I feel certain that in the proper
surroundings, hearing her natural tongue, she will soon regain its use.
The—ah—institution may submit a bill for board and lodging during her
stay.”
“Does he mean—take me away from here? For always?” Catalina, who had
seemed so mature a moment before, suddenly acted like a frightened
child.
“He only wants to make you comfortable and take you among your own
people,” said Mr Haggerwells. “Perhaps it is a bit sudden....”
“I can’t. Do not let him take me away. Hodge, Hodge—do not let him take
me away.”
“Señorita, you do not understand—”
“No, no. I won’t. Hodge, Mr Haggerwells, do not let him!”
“But my dear—”
It was Midbin who cut Mr Haggerwells off. “I cannot guarantee against
a relapse, even a reversion to the pseudo-aphonia if this emotional
tension is maintained. I must insist that Catalina is not to continue
the conversation now.”
“No one’s going to take you away by force,” I assured her, finally
finding my courage once Midbin had asserted himself.
The official shrugged, managing to intimate in the gesture his opinion
that the haven was of a very shady character indeed and had quite
possibly engineered the holdup itself.
“If the señorita genuinely wishes to remain for the present—” a lifted
eyebrow loaded the “genuinely” with meaning “—I have no authority at
the moment to inquire into influences that have persuaded her. No, none
at all. Nor can I remove her by—ah—I will not insist. No. Not at all.”
“That is very understanding of you, sir,” said Mr Haggerwells. “I’m
sure everything will be all right eventually.”
The diplomat bowed stiffly. “Of course the—ah—institution understands
it can hope for no further compensation—”
“None has been given or asked for. None will be,” said Mr Haggerwells
in what was, for him, a sharp tone.
The gentleman from the legation bowed. “The señorita will naturally be
visited from time to time by an official. Without note—notification.
She may be removed whenever His Most Catholic Majesty sees fit. And
of course none of her estate will be released before the eighteenth
birthday. The whole affair is entirely irregular.”
After he left I reproached myself for not asking what Don Jaime’s
mission had been that fateful evening, or at least for not trying to
find out what his function with the Spanish legation was. Probably he
could in no way be connected with the counterfeiting of the pesetas. By
making no attempt to learn any facts which might have lessened the old
feeling of guilty responsibility I kept it uneasily alive.
These reproaches were pushed aside when Catalina put her head against
my collarbone, sobbing with relief. “There, there,” I said, “there,
there.”
“Uncouth,” reflected Mr Haggerwells. “Compensation indeed!”
“Dealing with natives,” said Midbin. “Probably courteous enough to
Frenchmen or Afrikanders.”
I patted Catalina’s quivering shoulders. Child or not, now she was able
to talk I had to admit I no longer found her devotion so tiresome.
Though I was definitely uneasy lest Barbara discover us in this
attitude.
_15._ _GOOD YEARS_
And now I come to the period of my life which stands in such sharp
contrast to what had gone before. Was it really eight years I spent
at Haggershaven? The arithmetic is indisputable: I arrived in 1944
at the age of twenty-three; I left in 1952 at the age of thirty-one.
Indisputable, but not quite believable; as with the happy countries
which are supposed to have no history I find it hard to go over those
eight years and divide them by remarkable events. They blended too
smoothly, too contentedly into one another.
Crops were harvested, stored or marketed; the fields were plowed in the
fall and again in the spring and sown anew. Three of the older fellows
died, another became bedridden. Five new fellows were accepted; two
biologists, a chemist, a poet, a philologist. It was to the last I
played the same part Ace had to me, introducing him to the sanctuary of
the haven, seeing its security and refuge afresh and deeply thankful
for the fortune that had brought me to it.
There was no question about success in my chosen profession, not even
the expected alternation of achievement and disappointment. Once
started on the road I kept on going at an even, steady pace. For what
would have been my doctoral thesis I wrote a paper on _The Timing
of General Stuart’s Maneuvers During August 1863 in Pennsylvania_.
This received flattering comment from scholars as far away as the
Universities of Lima and Cambridge; because of it I was offered
instructorships at highly respectable schools.
I could not think of leaving the haven. The world into which I had
been born had never been fully revealed for what it was until I had
escaped from it. Secrecy and ugliness; greed, fear and callousness;
meanness, avarice, cunning, deceit and self-worship were as close
around as the nearest farmhouses. The idea of returning to that world
and of entering into daily competition with other underpaid, overdriven
drudges striving fruitlessly to apply a dilute coating of culture to
the unresponsive surface of unwilling students had little attraction.
In those eight years, as I broadened my knowledge I narrowed my
field. Undoubtedly it was presumptuous to take the War of Southron
Independence as my specialty when there were already so many
comprehensive works on the subject and so many celebrated historians
engaged with this special event. However, my choice was made not out of
self-importance but fascination, and undoubtedly it was the proximity
of the scene which influenced the selection of my goal, the last
thirteen months of the war, from General Lee’s invasion of Pennsylvania
to the capitulation at Reading. I saw the whole vast design:
Gettysburg, Lancaster, the siege of Philadelphia, the disastrous Union
counter-thrust in Tennessee, the evacuation of Washington, and finally
the desperate effort to break out of Lee’s trap which ended at Reading.
I could spend profitable years filling in the details.
My monographs were published in learned Confederate and British
journals—there were none in the United States—and I rejoiced when
they brought attention, not so much to me as to Haggershaven. I could
contribute only this notice and my physical labor; on the other hand
I asked little beyond food, clothing and shelter—just books. My
field trips I took on foot, often earning my keep by casual labor
for farmers, paying for access to private collections of letters or
documents by indexing and arranging them.
The time devoted to scholarship did not alone distinguish those eight
years, nor even the security of the haven. I have spoken of the simple,
easy manner in which the Agatis admitted me to their friendship, but
they were not the only ones with whom there grew ties of affection and
understanding. With very few exceptions the fellows of Haggershaven
quickly learned to shed the suspicion and aloofness, so necessary a
protection elsewhere, and substitute acceptance. The result was a
tranquillity I had never experienced before, so that I think of those
years as set apart, a golden period, a time of perpetual warm sunshine.
Between Barbara and me the turbulent, ambivalent passion swept back and
forth, the periods of estrangement seemingly only a generating force
to bring us together again. Hate and love, admiration and distaste,
impatience and pity were present on both sides. Only on hers there was
jealousy as well; perhaps if I had not been indifferent whenever she
chose to respond to some other man she might not have felt the errant
desire so strongly. Perhaps not; there was a moral urge behind her
behavior. She sneered at women who yielded to such temptations. To her
they were not temptations but just rewards; she did not yield, she took
them as her due.
Sometimes I wondered if her neurosis did not verge on insanity; I’m
sure for her part she must often have stood off and appraised me as a
mistake. I know there were many times when I wished there would be no
more reconciliation between us.
Yet no amount of thinking could cancel the swift hunger I felt in her
presence or the deep mutual satisfaction of physical union. Frequently
we were lovers for as long as a month before the inevitable quarrel,
followed by varying periods of coolness. During the weeks of distance I
remembered how she could be tender and gracious as well as ardent, just
as during our intimacy I remembered her ruthlessness and dominance.
It was not only her temperamental outbursts nor even her unappeasable
craving for love and affection which thrust us apart. Impediments
which, in the beginning, had appeared inconsequential assumed more
importance all the time. It was increasingly hard for her to leave her
work behind even for moments. She was never allowed to forget, either
by her own insatiable drive or by outside acknowledgment that she
was already one of the foremost physicists in the world. She had been
granted so many honorary degrees she no longer traveled to receive
them; offers from foreign governments of well-paid jobs connected with
their munitions industries were common. Articles were written about
her equation of matter, energy, space and time, acclaiming her as a
revolutionary thinker; though she dismissed them as evaluation of
elementary work, they nevertheless added to her isolation and curtailed
her freedom.
Midbin was, in his way, as much under her spell as Ace or myself.
His triumph over Catalina’s dumbness he took lightly now it was
accomplished; stabilizing Barbara’s emotions was the victory he wanted.
She, on her side, had lost whatever respect she must have had for him
in the days when she had submitted to his treatment. On the very rare
occasions when the whim moved her to listen to his entreaties—usually
relayed through Ace or me—and grant him time, it seemed to be only for
the opportunity of making fun of his efforts. Patiently he tried new
techniques of exploration and expression.
“But it’s not much use,” he said once, dolefully; “she doesnt _want_ to
be helped.”
“Wanting seemed to have little to do with making Catty talk,” I pointed
out. “Couldnt you....”
“Make a tinugraph of Barbara’s traumatic shock? If I had the materials
there would be no necessity.”
Perhaps there was less malice in her mockery now Catty was no longer
the focus of his theories about emotional pathology; perhaps she
forgave him for her temporary displacement, but she did not withhold
her contempt. “Oliver, you should have been a woman,” she told him;
“you would have been impossible as a mother, but what a grandmother you
would have made!”
That Catty herself had in her own way as strong a will as Barbara was
demonstrated in her determination to become part of Haggershaven. Her
reaction to the visit of the Spanish official was translated into an
unyielding program. She had gone resolutely to Thomas Haggerwells,
telling him she knew quite well she had neither the aptitudes nor
qualifications for admission to fellowship, nor did she ask it. All
she wanted was to live in what she regarded as her only home. She would
gladly do any work from washing dishes to making clothes—anything she
was asked. When she came of age she would turn over whatever money she
inherited to the haven without conditions.
He had patiently pointed out that a Spanish subject was a citizen of
a far wealthier and more powerful nation than the United States; as
an heiress she could enjoy the luxuries and distractions of Madrid or
Havana and eventually make a suitable marriage. How silly it would
be to give up all these advantages to become an unnoticed, penniless
drudge for a group of cranks near York, Pennsylvania.
“He was quite right you know, Catty,” I said when she told me about the
interview.
She shook her head vigorously, so the loose black curls swirled back
and forth. “You think so, Hodge, because you are a hard, prudent
Yankee.”
I opened my eyes rather wide; this was certainly not the description I
would have applied to myself.
“And also because you have Anglo-Saxon chivalry, always rescuing
maidens in distress and thinking they must sit on a cushion after
that and sew a fine seam. Well, I can sew a fine seam, but sitting on
cushions would bore me. Women are not as delicate as you think, Hodge.
Nor as terrifying.”
Was this last directed toward Barbara? Perhaps Catty had claws.
“There’s a difference,” I said, “between cushion-sitting and living
where books and pictures and music are not regarded with suspicion.”
“That’s right,” she agreed; “Haggershaven.”
“No, Haggershaven is an anomaly in the United States and in spite of
everything it cannot help but be infected by the rest of the country. I
meant the great, successful nations who can afford the breathing-spaces
for culture.”
“But you do not go to them.”
“No. This is my country.”
“And it will be mine too. After all it was made in the first place
by people willing to give up luxuries. Besides you are contradicting
yourself: if Haggershaven cannot avoid being infected by what is
outside it, neither can any other spot. Part of the world cannot be
civilized if another part is backward.”
There was no doubt her demure expression hid stern resolution. Whatever
else it hid was not so certain. Evidently Mr Haggerwells realized the
quality of her determination for eventually he proposed to the fellows
that she be allowed to stay and the offer of her money be rejected.
The motion was carried, with only Barbara, who spoke long and bitterly
against it, voting “no.”
In accepting Catty out of charity, the fellows unexpectedly made an
advantageous bargain. Not merely because she was always eager to help,
but for her specific contribution to the haven’s economy. Before this,
clothing the haven had been a haphazard affair; suits or dresses were
bought with money which would otherwise have been contributed to the
general fund, or if the fellow had no outside income, by a grant from
the same fund. Catty’s artistry with the needle made a revolution. Not
only did she patch and mend and alter; she designed and made clothes,
conveying some of her enthusiasm to the other women. The haven was
better and more handsomely clad and a great deal of money was saved.
Only Barbara refused to have her silk trousers and jackets made at home.
It was not entirely easy to adjust to the new Catty, the busy,
efficient, selfreliant creature. Her expressive voice could be
enchanting even when she was speaking nonsense—and Catty rarely
spoke nonsense. I don’t mean she was priggish or solemn, quite the
contrary; her spontaneous laughter was quick and frequent. But she was
essentially not frivolous; she felt deeply, her loyalties were strong
and enduring.
I missed her former all too open devotion to me. It had caused
embarrassment, impatience, annoyance; now it was withdrawn I felt
deprived and even pettish at its lack. Not that I had anything to offer
in return or considered that any emotion was called for from me. Though
I didnt express it to myself so openly at the time, what I regretted
was the sensually valuable docility of a beautiful woman. Of course
there was a confusion here: I was regretting what had never been, for
Catty and the nameless dumb girl were different individuals. Even her
always undeniable beauty was changed and heightened; what I really
wanted was for the Catty of now to act like the Catty of then. And
without any reciprocal gesture from me.
The new Catty no more than the old was disingenuous or coquettish. She
was simply mature, dignified, selfcontained and just a trifle amusedly
aloof. Also she was very busy. She did not pretend to any interest
in other men; at the same time she had clearly outgrown her childish
dependence on me. She refused any competition with Barbara. When I
sought her out she was there, but she made no attempt to call me to her.
I was not so unversed that I didnt occasionally suspect this might be
a calculated tactic. But when I recalled the utter innocence of her
look I reflected I would have to have a very nice conceit of myself
indeed to believe the two most attractive women at Haggershaven were
contending for me.
I don’t know precisely when I began to see Catty with a predatory male
eye. Doubtless it was during one of those times when Barbara and I had
quarrelled, and when she had called attention to Catty by accusing me
of dallying with her. I was essentially as polygamous as Barbara was
polyandrous or Catty monogamous; once the idea had formed I made no
attempt to reject it.
Nor, for a very long time, did I accept it in any way except
academically. There are sensual values also in tantalizing, and if
these values are perverse I can only say I was still immature in
many ways. Additionally there must have been an element of fear of
Catty, the same fear which maintained a reserve against Barbara. For
the time being at least it seemed much pleasanter to talk lightly
and inconsequentially with her; to laugh and boast of my progress,
to discuss Haggershaven and the world, than to face our elementary
relationship.
My fourth winter at the haven had been an unusually mild one; spring
was early and wet. Kimi Agati who, with her children, annually gathered
quantities of mushrooms from the woodlots and pastures, claimed this
year’s supply was so large that she needed help, and conscripted
Catty and me. Catty protested she didnt know a mushroom from a
toadstool; Kimi immediately gave her a brief but thorough course in
thallophytology. “And Hodge will help you; he’s a country boy.”
“All right,” I said. “I make no guarantees though; I havent been a
country boy for a long time.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Kimi thoughtfully. “You two take the small
southeast woodlot; Fumio can have the big pasture, Eiko the small one;
Yosh and I will pick in the west woodlot.”
We carried a picnic lunch and nests of large baskets which were to be
put by the edge of the woodlots when full; late in the afternoon a cart
would pick them up and bring them in for drying. The air was warm even
under the leafless branches; the damp ground steamed cosily.
“Kimi was certainly right,” I commented. “Theyre thick as can be.”
“I don’t see....” She stooped gracefully; “Oh, is this one?”
“Yes,” I said, “And there, and there. Not that white thing over there
though.”
We filled our first baskets without moving more than a few yards. “At
this rate we’ll have them all full by noon.”
“And go back for more?”
“I suppose. Or just wander around.”
“Oh.... Look, Hodge—what’s this?”
“What?”
“This.” She showed me the puffball in her hands, looking inquiringly up.
I looked down casually; suddenly there was nothing casual between us
any more, nor ever would be again. I looked down at a woman I wanted
desperately, feverishly, immediately. The shock of desire was a weight
on my chest, expelling the air from my lungs.
“Goodness—is it some rare specimen or something?”
“Puffball,” I managed to say. “No good.”
I hardly spoke, I could hardly speak, as we filled our second baskets.
I was sure the pounding of my heart must show through my shirt, and
several times I thought I saw her looking curiously at me. “Let’s eat
now,” I suggested hoarsely.
I found a pine with low-hanging boughs and tore down enough to make
a dry, soft place to sit while Catty unpacked our picnic. “Here’s an
egg,” she said; “I’m starved.”
We ate; that is, she ate and I pretended to. I was half dazed, half
terrified. I watched her swift motions, the turn of her head, the
clean, sharp way she bit into the food, and averted my eyes every time
her glance crossed mine.
“Well,” she murmured at last; “I suppose we mustnt sit idle any longer.
Come on, lazy; back to work.”
“Catty,” I whispered. “Catty.”
“What is it, Hodge?”
“Wait.”
Obediently she paused. I reached over and took her in my arms. She
looked at me, not startled, but questioning. Just as my mouth reached
hers she moved slightly so that I kissed her cheek instead of her lips.
She did not struggle but lay passively, with the same questioning
expression.
I held her, pressing her against the pine boughs, and found her mouth.
I kissed her eyes and throat and mouth again. Her eyes stayed open and
she did not respond. I undid the top of her dress and pressed my face
between her breasts.
“Hodge.”
I paid no attention.
“Hodge, wait. Listen to me. If this is what you want you know I will
not try to stop you. But Hodge, be sure. Be very sure.”
“I want you, Catty.”
“Do you? Really want _me_, I mean.”
“I don’t know what you mean. I want you.”
But it was already too late; I had made the fatal error of pausing to
listen. Angrily I moved away, picked up my basket and sullenly began
to search for mushrooms again. My hands still trembled and there was a
quiver in my legs. To complement my mood a cloud drifted across the sun
and the warm woods became chilly.
“Hodge.”
“Yes?”
“Please don’t be angry. Or ashamed. If you are I shall be sorry.”
“I don’t understand.”
She laughed. “Oh my dear Hodge. Isnt that what men always say to women?
And isnt it always true?”
Suddenly the day was no longer spoiled. The tension melted and we went
on picking mushrooms with a new and fresh innocence.
After this I could no longer keep all thoughts of Catty out of the
intimacy with Barbara; now for the first time her jealousy had grounds.
I felt guilty toward both, not because I desired both, but because I
didnt totally desire either.