“You are. But not so much as you will. Do you know what I'm doing out
here? Do you suppose I left my business to come halfway around the world
on a pleasure trip--at my age? Chuck everything worth while, just when
I'm at the top of my stride? No, you don't know; but I'm going to tell
you.”
I put up my hand, but he plunged gloomily on: “My wife eloped with a
man. A man I knew. They came out here. I've come to find them. I'm going
to kill him and her. With a knife.”
“You must not do that,” said I. I recall now that the thought came to me
to deal with him as if he were a lunatic, and humor him. So I said, “You
must not do that.”
“It is the only thing to do,” said he, rather dogmatically. “How can I
face my friends again if I fail? A man who doesn't even try to protect
his home!”
“It would be murder.”
He shook his head. “No honest jury would hang me for that. It is the
unwritten law.” Then, as if conscious of the weakness of his argument,
he added: “Besides, what difference does it make? Those two have
committed worse than murder against me. It does n't matter a particle
now what becomes of me. I loved my wife. I gave her everything that
money could buy. I bought her an automobile for her own only last year.
I took her to Europe. And when I married her she had never had anything
or been anywhere. I wanted her to be the mistress of my home, and she
insisted on sacrificing all that--and me--to her music. So I got her the
best teachers in New York and Paris. Even left her in Paris to study.
That's where she met him. She insisted on going into opera. I forbade
that--naturally. I wanted children--she refused. Tell me--is that asking
too much?”
He had been talking in a monotonous tone; but now his voice began
rising, and his face was twitching nervously.
“Is it?” he went on. “Is it asking too much for a husband to have sons
to bear his name and inherit his property? When I saw what was going on,
she told me to divorce her. I said, 'By God, that's one thing I won't do
for you! I've some sense of honor, if you haven't! You're mine, and yuu
stay mine!' Then she ran away with that crook. But she can't have him, I
tell you! She can't have him!”
I suggested that he lower his voice. He gave me a curious, wild glance,
and fell silent.
It occurred to me that, knowing all this, I had no right to go
away--that I must stay and prevent this terrible thing from taking
place. I said as much to him.
“No,” he replied, with some vehemence; “there's nothing in that. You
could n't prevent anything. The best thing you can do is to run along. I
don't even know where they are; but I'll find them. You can't hide long
on the China Coast--not from a man that's really looking.”
I thought this over for quite a little time. It was true enough that
I could not prevent his giving me the slip. I could not lock him up
or detain him in any forcible way. It seemed to me that I must do
something; but as the moments passed it grew increasingly difficult to
imagine what it could be.
It was all very disturbing. I helped him get up. Then, as he seemed
fairly well able to dress himself, I went out and walked for a while on
the Bund. When I returned I found him stretched out on my sofa, smoking.
“Come on in,” he said in a strong, sober voice. What an extraordinary
fund of vitality the man has to draw on! “I want to talk to you.”
As I sank into a chair beside him, I felt once more that he was the
stronger of us, I the weaker, even after all we had been through.
He knocked the ash off his cigar. It missed the ash-tray and fell, part
of it, on the leg of my trousers. “I beg your pardon, old man,” he said,
and carefully brushed it off. Then he settled back against the wall and
stared up through his smoke at the pattern on the ceiling.
“My hand is n't quite steady yet,” he added calmly.
Then he went on: “I should n't have told this to you, Eckhart. It is n't
the sort of thing a man can tell. But, as it happens, you know why I
did it. I've been stewed to the brim for two days. I'm through with that
now, though. Until a certain job is done, I touch nothing stronger than
wine. Here's my hand on it.”
I had to clear my throat. I managed to say huskily: “I can't take your
hand on that, Crocker.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Very well,” he said. “If you prefer it that
way. It goes, however. I drink no more now. That is one thing I really
have you to thank for, Eckhart. Until you spoke out, back there on the
ship, I did n't realize how much I was drinking. What you told me this
morning has clinched the business. I'm through. And you will find that I
am a man of my word.”
“I am glad of that,” said I, “because I believe that, with the drink out
of your system, your philosophy of life will change. I hope it will.”
He shook his head at this.
“No, Eckhart. Now, see here. You have today seen deep into a man's
heart. What you saw was not drink, merely; it was fact.”
His manner of saying this gave me an uncomfortable feeling that he was
speaking the truth. Indeed, my increasing conviction as to the great
reserve power of the man was distressing me.
“As I told you this morning,” he went on, “there is absolutely nothing
you can do in the matter. Except killing me, of course--you could do
that. But you won't.”
“No,” said I sadly; “I won't.”
“And I'm going to ask you to take the only course that an honorable
man can take in the private quarrel of another--stand aside and try to
forget what I have told you. You have my drunken confidences; forget
them.”
“See here!” I broke out. “Were you faithful to your wife before she
turned against you?” His eyes hardened. “What do you mean by that?” he
asked.
“Precisely what I say.”
“You're talking nonsense, Eckhart--”
“I am _not_ talking non--”
“Yes, _you are!_”
He had swung around, and was sitting up, looking me squarely in the
eye, as he shouted me down. My heart sank. Mere squabbling would get us
nowhere. I did not know what to do. I do not now know what to do.
He went on:
“Yes; I was, to all intents and purposes, faithful to her. I did as well
as a normal, healthy man can be expected to do. Let us not be childish
about this. You and I know that man is physiologically different from
woman. We know that what there is of purity and sacredness in marriage
and in life will be lost forever once we lower our ideal of woman's
virtue.”
“No,” said I; “as a scientific man--”
I could not go on with my protest; for thoughts of a few wild moments in
my own relatively quiet life had come floating to the surface of memory.
Who was I, to oppose the double standard of morality that has ruled the
world so long!
He was still looking at me in that intent way. There was deep sadness
behind the hard surface of his eyes.
“I came here to thank you for all your kindness, Eckhart,” he said then.
“As for what you have heard, remember it is mine, not yours. That is
all. Now, if you don't mind, I'll help you get your truck down to the
train.”
I did as he said. I am on my way to Peking to pursue my research. He is
plunging off to scour the ports of Japan, all the way to Nagasaki, for
the man and the woman who have assailed his honor and (what I am tempted
to think even more to the point) outraged his pride as the head of his
own house. Then he will go on, if necessary, to Shanghai,--that port of
all the world,--to Hongkong, Manila, and Singapore, perhaps up the coast
to Tientsin and Peking. And he has made me believe that he will do as he
has sworn. It is very strange--very sad.
At the station I made my last weak protest.
“Crocker,” I blurted out, “for God's sake, try to win her back. Perhaps
you drove her away. Perhaps you were harsher, less understanding, than
you knew. Perhaps you should beg her forgiveness, not she yours.”
He shook his head. “That may be so,” he said. “All that you say may be
so. But I could n't take her back. Don't you see?”
“No,” I replied stoutly, “I don't see.”
He raised both his hands in a despairing gesture.
“She is---she--” His voice suddenly failed him. “She's a woman--and
she's soiled!” His eyes filled; a tear rolled down his cheek. He made a
queer, convulsive face; then threw up his hands and turned away.
That was all. I boarded my train.
*****
The young German did not return the fifteen dollars. This China Coast is
a hive of swindlers--so says Sir Robert. Henceforth I intend hardening
my heart against every man. And against every woman, above all. For
they, says Sir Robert, are the subtler and the worse.
_Peking, April 5th, Midday._
|THAT Crocker affair haunts me with the power of a bad dream.