EARTH-BOUND
(_From Penelope's Diary_)
_Tuesday Night._
Heaven help me! I have heard the words that sound my doom. I saw Dr.
Owen this morning. It is all true--my dream, and what I saw myself do in
the bowl of goldfish. True! I did those incredible things. I wore my red
dress and my black hat. I went to Captain Herrick's studio. I lay down
on the divan--everything is true. Oh, God, this is too horrible! How can
I ever face Christopher again? I wish I could die!
Dr. Owen questioned me about the name Fauvette--why did I ask
Christopher to call me Fauvette? I have no idea. I hate and despise that
name. It brings up memories that I wish might be forever blotted out of
my mind. That was the name Julian used to call me when he had been
drinking. He would pretend that I was another person, Fauvette, and
sometimes Fauvette would do things that I refused to do. Fauvette would
yield to his over-powering physical charm and would say dreadful things,
would enter into his mood and become just the sort of animal creature
that he wanted. It was like a madness.
_Wednesday morning._
I cried my eyes out last night and lay awake for hours thinking about my
unhappy life. All my pride and hopes have come to this--an irresponsible
mind. It makes no difference whether the cause is shell shock or
something else, the fact remains that my mind does not work properly--I
do things without knowing or remembering what I do. I am sure I cannot
live long--what have I to live for? I have made a will leaving my little
fortune to Chris--he will never know how much I care for him--and my
jewelry to Seraphine, except my silly thumb ring, which is for Roberta
Vallis. She loves it.
This afternoon _They_ came again. _They_ never were so bad. I was
walking down Fifth Avenue and, as I reached the cathedral, I thought I
would go in and say my prayers. I love the soft lights and the smell of
incense, but just at the door _They_ began insulting me.
"Little fool! Little fool! She is going to say her prayers. Ha, ha!"
They laughed.
I knelt down and breathed an old benediction, shutting my ears against
the Voices:
"_The peace of God which passeth all understanding--_"
"Fauvette! Fauvette!" _They_ mocked me.
"_Keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God--_"
"She's a pretty little devil. I like her mouth."
"_And of his son, Jesus Christ our Lord--_"
"Red dress! Red dress! Divan! Divan!"
"_And the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son and the Holy
Ghost--_"
"She can't remember it. She's thinking of her lover. She wants to kiss
her lover." Then _They_ said gross things and I could not go on. I got
up from my knees, heartbroken, and came away.
* * * * *
_Thursday night._
I thought I should never be happy again, but whatever the future holds
for me of darkness and sadness, I have had one radiantly happy day.
Christopher telephoned this morning and arrived half an hour later with
an armful of roses. He took me to luncheon, then for a drive in the
Park, then to tea at the Plaza where we danced to delicious music, and
finally to dinner and the theater. He would not leave me. And over and
over again he asked me to marry him. He will not hear of anything but
that I am to be his wife. He loves me, he worships me, he trusts me
absolutely. Nothing that has happened makes the slightest difference to
him. Dr. Owen is going to cure me in a few weeks, there is no doubt
about it, Christopher says, and anyhow, he loves me.
If I were in Europe now I'd make a pilgrimage to the shrine of some
saint and heap up offerings of flowers. I _must_ do something to make
others happy; my heart is overflowing with gratitude!
I thrilled with pride as I walked beside my lover on the Avenue this
afternoon. He looked so tall and splendid in his uniform. I love his
eyes--his shoulders--everything about him. My Christopher!
I am to give him his answer within a week, but--_what answer can I give
him?_
* * * * *
_Friday morning._
Alas! I have paid for my happiness--it was written, it had to be. I have
lived through a night that cannot be described. Seraphine's prophetic
words have come true. Horror! Terror! I cannot bear it any longer. It is
quite impossible for me to bear it any longer. I have sent for
Seraphine, begging her to come to me at once--this afternoon, this
evening, any time tonight, before I sleep again. I would sooner die than
endure another such night.
* * * * *
_Saturday morning._
Seraphine did not get my note until late, but in spite of a snow-storm,
she came to me and stayed all night. Dear Seraphine! She spends her life
helping and comforting people in distress. She sees nothing but trouble
from morning till night, yet she is always cheerful and jolly. She says
God wants her to laugh and grow fat, so she does.
We talked for hours and I told her everything--or nearly everything.
There is only one abominable memory that I can never tell to anyone, I
may write it some day in the red leather volume of my diary that is
locked with a key and that must be burned before I die. I told
Seraphine how I was suddenly awakened Thursday night by a horrible
feeling that there was a _presence_ near me in my bedroom. Then I slept
again and saw myself all in white lying on the ground surrounded by a
circle of black birds with hateful red eyes--fiery eyes. These birds
came nearer and nearer and I knew I was suffering horribly as I lay
there, yet I looked on calmly without a shred of sympathy for myself; in
fact I felt only amused contempt when I saw the dream image of poor
Penelope start up from the ground with a scream of fright.
While I opened my heart Seraphine sat silent, watching me like a loving
mother. Several times she touched my arm protectingly, and once her gaze
swept quickly down my skirt, then up again, as if she saw something
moving.
"What is it? What do you see?" I asked, but she did not tell me.
When I had finished she kissed me tenderly and said she was so glad I
had let her come to me in my distress. She told me there was a great and
immediate danger hanging over me, but that God's infinite love would
protect and heal me, as it protects all His children, if I would learn
to draw upon it.
I asked what this danger was and Seraphine said it would strike at me
very soon through a dark-haired woman; but she would try to help me, if
I would heed her warnings. I don't know why but I immediately thought of
Roberta Vallis, and the strange part of it is that within an hour,
Roberta called me on the telephone to say she was coming up right away.
Roberta and Seraphine had not seen each other for years, not since that
night when Seraphine made her prophecy about me.
Within a half hour Roberta arrived very grand in furs and jewels, quite
dashingly pretty and pleased with herself--the real _joie de vivre_
spirit. She was perfectly willing to reveal the source of this sudden
magnificence, but I did not ask her--I know enough of Bobby's love
affairs already--and I could see that she was uneasy under Seraphine's
gravely disapproving eyes. She had come to invite me to a house-warming
party that she is planning to give at her new apartment in the Hotel des
Artistes. I shall meet all sorts of wonderful people, social and
theatrical celebrities, and there will be music. Seraphine's eyes kept
saying no, and I told Bobby I would telephone her tomorrow before six
o'clock. I was not sure whether I could accept because--"Haven't you an
engagement for Thursday with Captain Herrick?" suggested Seraphine.
Whereupon Bobby, with an impertinent little toss of her bobbed-off black
hair, said: "Oh, Pen, why do you waste your time on a commonplace
architect? He will never satisfy you--not in a thousand years. Bye-bye,
I'll see you at the party." Then away she went, her eyes challenging
Seraphine who stands for all the old homely virtues, including unselfish
love, that Bobby Vallis entirely disapproves of. What shall I do?
Seraphine says I must not go to this party, but--_I want to go!_
* * * * *
I have accepted Roberta's invitation, in spite of a warning from Seraphine
that something dreadful will happen to me if I go. I have a morbid
curiosity to see what experiences _can_ be in store for me that are
worse than those I have gone through already. Besides, I do not believe
what Seraphine says--it is contrary to my reason, it is altogether
fantastic. And, even if it were true, even if I really am in the
horrible peril that she describes, what difference does it make where I
go or what I do? I am just a spiritual outcast, marked for suffering--a
little more or less _je m'en moque_.
* * * * *
I have hesitated to write down Seraphine's explanation of my trouble,
even in my diary. I reject it with all the strength of my soul. I
consider it absurd, I hate it, I try to forget it; but alas! it sticks
in my thoughts like some ridiculous jingle. So I may as well face the
thing on paper, here in the privacy of my diary, and laugh at it. Ha,
ha!--is that false-sounding laughter?
_Seraphine says that the great war has thrown the spirit world into
confusion, especially in the lower levels where the new arrivals come
and linger. Millions, have died on the battle field in hatred and
violence. Great numbers of these have gone over so suddenly that they
are not able to adjust themselves to the other plane where they
constitute an immense company of earth-bound souls that long to come
back. There are myriads of these unreconciled souls hovering all about
us, crowding about us, eagerly, greedily, striving to come back. Some do
not know that they are dead and rebel fiercely against their changed
condition. The drunkards still thirst after drink. The murderers want to
go on killing. The gluttons would fain gorge themselves with food, the
lustful with bodily excesses. All these evil spirits, cut off from their
old gratifications, try to satisfy their desires by re-entering earthly
bodies, and often they succeed. That is the great peril of the war, she
says. What a horrible thought! I simply refuse to believe that such
things are possible._
_And yet--those Voices!_