she had said that and he was sorry for her.
Holton didn’t answer for a moment and then he had said, “Yes, I suppose
you can.” They knew then that he would not come back and Trebling
could sense her sadness as they watched the lights flickering below
them.
* * * * *
“Do you remember Carla?” asked Jim suddenly, his mind adjusting to the
present.
“The girl in Florence? Sure, I remember her. Was that her name ...
Carla?”
“That’s right.”
“She was very nice looking, wasn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Sure, I remember her.”
“I thought you liked her quite a bit,” said Trebling, not looking at
Holton.
“I suppose I did. We ran into a lot of people, though. There were so
many people.”
Trebling agreed that there had been a number of people in Europe,
people they had known.
“That was a good town, Florence,” said Holton suddenly.
“It was.”
“We were there a week, weren’t we?”
“About that.”
Holton nodded, and Trebling watched him to see how he felt; Holton’s
face told him nothing, though. He was only remembering.
“It’s certainly a nice feeling to be out,” said Holton finally.
“I guess it must be.”
“Not having to worry about being moved from place to place.”
* * * * *
They were standing in the Roman Forum. All around them were pieces
of shattered marble, shattered in earlier wars. Trebling and Holton
had looked at three slender columns of marble, all that was left of a
temple.
Trebling had remarked, “I’ll bet those pillars are pretty old.”
Holton agreed, “Maybe a thousand years old.”
Together they had looked at the three columns of the ruined temple.
Trebling asked, “Do you think you would’ve ever gotten here except in
the army?”
“No. I don’t guess so.”
“I probably wouldn’t have either.”
“It’s sort of interesting.”
And Trebling had said, “I like the traveling part of all this.”
Robert Holton agreed to this and then they began to complain about
other things.
* * * * *
Trebling sat back in his chair and looked around the office. He didn’t
like offices and he didn’t like this one at all. The clear constant
light standardized the people in the room.
“How do you like it here?” he asked.
Holton shrugged. “O.K., I suppose. It’s something to do.”
“You think you’ll stay in this sort of work?”
“Probably, I don’t know yet.”
“I had thought you might go into this new thing with me.
“Well....”
Neither spoke for a moment.
Finally Trebling asked, “Can I smoke in here?”
“I’m sorry, Jim, but....”
“Sure, I know: rules.”
“I’m sorry. These people are awful stiff about a lot of things.”
Jim Trebling wished again that he hadn’t come. He had an impulse to run
away. “What’re you doing tonight?” he asked finally.
“I’m going to a big cocktail party.”
“Being social, eh?”
“Well, you know you have to make contacts ...” he continued, explaining
himself carefully.
Then Holton asked Jim about himself, and he listened as Jim talked. The
cataloguing of army camps, the different duties in each, the girl he
had decided to marry and then didn’t, his current leave of absence, the
trip across the country, the pleasure of seeing Robert Holton again.
Trebling told this story automatically, as one always tells a much-told
personal story and as he told this he wondered what had happened to
Holton.
In the war he had been considered wild. He had spent most of the time
laughing at things. He had been easily bored and now he was changed.
“It must be nice to be out,” Trebling repeated, not knowing what else
to say.
And Robert Holton explained to him in detail why it was so nice to be
free.
* * * * *
Paris had been the most interesting place of all. They had spent two
days there. Trebling had been very conscientious and had insisted that
they see palaces and landmarks and they had actually tried to see a
few but then Holton decided that there was not enough time for that.
They met two girls. Trebling could not remember their names; he could
remember nothing about them except that they were rather pretty and
claimed to be sisters.
The girls had suggested they go on a picnic. Holton had liked this
idea and he managed to get some food from the mess officer of a
near-by company. They took bicycles and drove out of Paris. They rode
through Sèvres and some small towns on the outskirts. They approached
Versailles but the girls didn’t care to go into the town and so they
turned left from the main road. At a small town called Jouy-en-Josas
they stopped, and on the dark green lawn of a bombed-out château they
had their picnic.
The sky was overcast that day. And the woods that surrounded the
château were blue and smoky and looked mysterious, like the pictures of
enchanted forests in children’s books.
When they had finished lunch Holton wanted to go walk in the woods.
Only one of the girls spoke English.
“Let’s take a walk in the woods,” Holton suggested.
The two girls giggled and talked together very quickly in French. The
one who spoke English finally said, “Sure, we go walk in the woods with
you.” They walked in the woods.
Hand in hand the two couples walked between the misty trees. There
was no underbrush here and the trees came up out of the stony,
grass-covered ground, free and straight.
The two girls understood what was expected of them. His most vivid
memory was not of the one he had but of Holton’s: a stocky, pink-faced
girl. He remembered clearly the way her head lolled against the tree,
her eyes closed and her thick lips slightly ajar. He remembered that
her hair was almost the same color as the bark of the tree.
“Say, Bob, do you remember those two girls from Paris?”
“When was that?”
“You know, the time we went on the picnic.”
“I’m afraid I’ve forgotten.” That was that.
A large important-looking man came into the office. When he saw
Trebling with Holton he stopped in the middle of the room, changed his
course with the unself-conscious dignity of a schooner under full sail,
and walked straight over to them.
Holton got to his feet quickly and Trebling did the same, sensing that
this was a person of importance.
“Jim Trebling, this is Mr Murphy, the Chief of our section.”
“Glad to meet you, Lieutenant.” They shook hands vigorously, Mr Murphy
smiling with goodwill.
“Well, Lieutenant, I suppose you’ll be getting out soon?”
Mechanically Trebling explained what he was planning to do.
“Think you’ll go into Business?” asked Mr Murphy.
“Maybe, I don’t know.”
“Lot of openings now for a young man who wants to get ahead.”
“There probably are.”
They talked for a while of Business as though it were a state of being.
Trebling looked at Holton as Mr Murphy talked, looked at him, trying
to find something familiar in his face. For a moment as he looked he
thought he could see a tightness about the mouth, an effort at control
but Jim Trebling could not tell what Holton was controlling and the
mouth soon relaxed and he could tell nothing then.
Coming back on the boat together they had talked of what they were
going to do when they got out.
“I think I’d like to make money,” said Holton, looking at the white
wake of the ship.
“That’s not a bad idea. How?”
“Damned if I know.”
“We could always start that pottery business I was telling you about,
back in California.”
“That’s a thought.”
“Of course there’re a lot of other things we could do.”
“I suppose it’s all a matter of picking the right one.”
They looked at the gray water and thought of new things, of works not
yet begun. Pensively Holton leaned out over the railing and spat.
Trebling, interested, did the same. For several moments they were in
serious contest to determine who could spit the farthest. Holton won,
although Trebling claimed he had been helped by a gust of wind.
Then they walked about the decks of the transport. Soldiers were
everywhere. They sat in groups on the covered hatches, they leaned over
the railing to look at the sea and, also, to be sick.
“I guess all these people are going to be trying the same thing,” said
Holton suddenly.
“Try what? Starting a business?”
Sure.
“I don’t think so.”
“A lot of them will.”
“So what?”
“I guess it could work.” They stopped amidships and looked out to
sea again. “I’d certainly like to have a lot of money,” said Holton
sincerely.
“So would I,” said Trebling with casual sincerity.
They had decided then to start in together when they got out of the
army. Holton had been discharged first, however, and he had immediately
joined Heywood and Golden. In his occasional letters Holton never
mentioned the business again. Trebling remembered that now and was
sorry so much had changed.
* * * * *
Mr Murphy was talking about Business.
Holton was listening to him with what appeared to be interest. Trebling
shook himself and tried to act as if he had been following the lesson
Mr Murphy had been giving him.
“Very nice to have met you, Lieutenant,” said Mr Murphy at last.
“Nice to meet you.” They shook hands. Mr Murphy turned to Holton. “I’d
like to see you for a moment if your friend doesn’t mind.”
“Certainly.” Holton gestured to Trebling to stay where he was. Then Mr
Murphy and Holton went over to the other end of the office where the
windows were.
Jim Trebling sat in his uncomfortable chair beneath the fluorescent
lights. He wanted to leave this office, leave it now and not come back.
He couldn’t understand Holton any longer. He no longer knew him.
Trebling was aware of someone standing beside him. He looked up: it was
the blue-eyed girl. He started to get to his feet.
“Don’t move,” she said. “I’m just passing by. Mr Murphy and Bob seem to
be having some sort of conference. I thought I’d wait outside the gate
till they were through.”
“Sit down,” said Trebling.
“Thank you.” She sat down in the chair beside him. He wondered what to
say to her, what to talk about.
“Have you been here long?” he asked.
She told him that she had been there for several years.
“It must be interesting working in a place like this.”
She laughed. “It’s pretty awful, I think. As jobs go, of course, it’s
not bad.”
“But you’d rather not work at all.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, you’ll probably be married soon.” This was a leading question.
There was a simple ritual to conversation with pretty girls who might
be had.
She recognized this and answered according to the ritual, “Oh, maybe
someday, when I meet the right person.”
This could mean a lot. He was interested now. “That’s important,
meeting the right person.”
They were both silent, thinking how important it was to meet the right
person.
Trebling began to think of this girl (was her name Caroline?) quite
seriously. It was such an important thing to discover: if she could be
had or not. For one night she might be very pleasant. He liked the way
she looked. But then he thought of certain other one-night stands and
of the phone calls and letters and emotion that often came of them. He
would be very careful about this. He resumed.
“I suppose you can have a pretty good time in New York if you know the
right places to go.”
“Yes, there are some nice places. You have to be very careful, though.”
“A lot of them are clip joints, I guess.”
She laughed. “I’ll say they are.”
“Depends, I guess, on who you go out with.”
“Well, you should know your way around.”
They were drawing nearer and nearer to the act. Everything was going
well. She was returning all his signals. He began to breathe a little
hard as they approached the gateway.
“I know so few people in New York,” he said. “Bob’s really the only
person I know well. I don’t know any girls.”
“Well, there’re a lot of them around.”
“I know.” He paused and then he began to speak carefully but casually.
“I was going out tonight but I don’t think I will now.”
“Why?”
“It’s not much fun alone.” This was said almost pathetically.
“What about Bob?”
“He’s going to that cocktail party.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot.” A pause now, a silence with great meaning in it.
“Maybe,” and he was saying it at last, “maybe _you_ might go out
with me tonight.”
“Me!” Surprise, pleasure, a certain asperity, all these emotions
splendidly portrayed in that one word. “Well....”
“Of course if you’re busy....”
“Oh, no....” She spoke almost too quickly. “I’m not really certain,”
she added, regaining her dignity. “Perhaps you might call me back
around five. I’ll know then.” At that moment both of them knew.
“That would be fine. I hope you don’t think it’s ...”
“Certainly not.” Then she said that any friend of Bob’s was a friend of
hers.
Trebling felt pleased with himself for having managed so well. It
might take a week but it would still be pleasant. He looked forward to
the final moment of yielding. He sighed and started to think of other
things.
Caroline, seeing that Holton was on his way back, got up from her
chair. “Nice to have seen you, Lieutenant. I’ll be looking forward to
your call.”
He also stood up. “I hope you can make it.” She said that she did, too,
and they both knew what was going to happen. Robert Holton came back
and Caroline left.
“That’s a pretty girl,” said Trebling.
“Caroline? Yes, she’s pretty nice.”
They stood looking at each other awkwardly. “Shall we get together
tomorrow evening?” suggested Holton.
“Sure, that’d be fine.”
“Well, listen, Jim, it’s been wonderful seeing you....”
“And I’ve enjoyed it....” Their voices intermingled into a single
sound. Neither of them listened to the words of the other.
“See you tomorrow then, Bob?”
“See you then.” They said good-bye and Jim Trebling left the office.
As he stood in the reception room waiting for the elevator he felt sad
at the way Holton had changed. It was such a shame because they had
once been very close. Then Jim Trebling thought of Caroline and he felt
happier. The Carolines were the important things.
The elevator door opened and he stepped inside.
_Chapter Eight_
At five-thirty the world ceased to be official and became private.
Happily Robert Holton put away his books and figures and prepared to
leave. Monday was over and he wouldn’t let himself think of the other
days of his week.
Caroline was putting on her hat and Mr Murphy sat at his desk behind
her, dreaming, his eyes fixed shrewdly upon nothing.
Robert Holton walked over to Caroline.
“Ready to go?”
She nodded. “All ready.” Together they walked through the emptying
offices, rode down the crowded elevator, and stepped out into the more
crowded street.
The sky was gray now and the sun had vanished behind buildings. The air
was cool and the smell of exhaust was strong as cars moved slowly in
the streets, trying to escape to less crowded places. They walked with
the stream of people toward the subway opening. They talked.
“Guess what?” said Caroline.
“What?”
“I’m going out tonight.”
“Well?”
“I’m going out with Lieutenant Trebling.”
He was surprised. “That was fast work. Did he do that while he was in
the office?”
“We talked about it. He called me back later and I told him I’d go out
with him.”
“Well, well.” Holton was admiring but Caroline was not sure whether he
was admiring her or Trebling.
“I think he’s nice,” she said, not committing herself.
“Yes, he’s a good guy.”
They crossed a street nervously and in silence. On the other side they
went on talking.
“Tell me something about him?” she asked.
“There’s not much to tell. He’s from the West Coast. He went to UCLA,
I think, and his old man’s in the insurance business. He went into the
army about the same time I did and he’s still in.”
“That’s not what I want to know.”
“Well, what do you want to know?”
She had trouble saying this. “Oh, you know ... the sort of person he
is. All that sort of thing.”
Robert Holton, who hadn’t thought much about it, had a hard time
answering. “I guess he’s what you’d call a dreamer. He’s not very
practical. He always wants to start things ... businesses, you know. In
the war he was pretty good and other people liked him. He wasn’t very
wild then.”
“Is he now?”
“Just his ideas. In those days I used to be the wild one.”
She laughed and thought he was joking with her and this made him angry
and sad but there was nothing he could do about it because he had
assumed a certain identity with her and it had to be maintained.
“I’ll bet you were wild!”
“We all change,” he said.
She wasn’t interested in how he’d changed, though: she was interested
in Jim Trebling. “I don’t suppose he’s engaged or anything like that?”
She was casual.
Holton laughed. “No, you can get him if you want to.”
“I didn’t mean that at all. What do you mean by saying that?”
“Not a thing.”
She went on talking for several moments, trying to be indignant. Then
they crossed another street and she stopped talking.
They walked with the current of people, walked uncomfortably but
deliberately over the sidewalk ventilators of the subway beneath. As
they walked they could feel the thunder of a subway train under their
feet, vibrating upward, like a great emotion, into their stomachs.
Then they came to the opening of the subway. With a deep breath they
descended into the pit. Like lemmings dashing seaward the people pushed
down the steps and into already crowded trains.
Caroline and Holton were separated. A sudden push of the crowd threw
her into the train just before the door closed. He caught a last
glimpse of her serene beauty being crushed between a large Negress and
a tall white man. The train gave a rumble and pulled away.
Holton stood on the concrete platform with a hundred others who had
missed this train and were waiting for the next.
He walked up and down between the concrete pillars, looking at the
broken machines which were supposed to sell gum and peanuts and, from
habit, he put his finger into one of the slots to see if anything was
there: nothing was there however.
He admired the advertisements. His favorite one, the girl advertising
beer, was not in this station but there were others. Two very excellent
ones of movie actresses, young women hauntingly attractive with red
lips. He admired these even though the most beautiful actress of all
had had her front teeth blacked out and a crude phallic image drawn
over her passionate face. There were people in the world who would do
those things, of course, and he was not annoyed.
The other advertisements were less interesting and he didn’t look at
them very long.
Another train roared through the tunnel, stopping with great noise; the
doors opened and people flowed out; then another rush to get on the
train. Robert Holton allowed himself to be carried into the hot stale
car.
* * * * *
He liked to walk in the Park. In the evenings the Park was the most
peaceful place in the city. A few people would be sitting on the
benches and a few couples would be walking between trees but there were
never many people here in the early evening and the ones that were
there were always quiet.
As Robert Holton walked the miracle of the street lamps took place,
white light filling the bulbs and changing the early evening, the
twilight period, to a premature night.
He walked quickly now because it was almost six o’clock. Mrs Raymond
Stevanson’s cocktail parties often went on until nine or ten o’clock
and occasionally they lasted all night but he couldn’t know this for
certain and he didn’t want to be late.
Robert Holton thought sadly about Jim Trebling as he walked, breathing
the cool air. A short time had made a lot of difference and he was
aware of this difference.
Trebling was apt to be impractical. It was a likeable quality in the
army; he himself hadn’t made much sense in those days, but things had
changed now. This was the time to be practical and Jim Trebling was not.
A couple were embracing beside a large rock. He watched them with
interest as he went by.
He had tried to pretend to be the same but the effort, or the change,
had been too great. It made him unhappy to think that he and Trebling
had really been so different, had always been so different, even in
those days. He was shocked to think that Trebling remembered the army
as a pleasant period of his life. There had been times, of course....
Another couple came out of the woods, walked to the pathway and looked
uncertainly about them, as though unsure of themselves. When he glanced
at them they looked at him angrily, as if he had been spying. He walked
away.
Robert Holton was not sure why he had changed toward Trebling. He
wanted to be the same. He wanted to take up the friendship where it had
been broken but he could not. He was not going to change again.
A nurse with a baby carriage was hurrying streetward. It was late,
probably much too late for her to be out with the baby. As she passed
him he caught a glimpse of the child and saw that it was staring
vacantly ahead, concentrating upon growth.
He followed the nurse and the carriage toward the street. Robert Holton
smiled to himself when he thought of Caroline and Jim Trebling going
out together. It was always interesting when people out of different
periods of his life came to know each other. He had never associated
Trebling with Caroline before.
He took a last deep breath of air before he left the Park. He wished
vaguely that he might have more time to walk in the Park and straighten
out certain things.
The uptown streets were not crowded. A few people were coming home from
work; most of the people were already home by now. Children played
together in the streets, shouting at one another in sharp hoarse
voices. A smell of cooking was in the streets.
* * * * *
There was no mail for him.
This was not a good day. On the good days there was mail; days could
be bad when there wasn’t any. Not that there was anyone Robert Holton
wanted to hear from in particular but he was less alone when he had
letters to read.
“Been a nice day,” said the person behind the desk.
“It certainly has,” said Robert Holton.
“Won’t be long until it’s winter,” said the person behind the desk.
“It won’t be long,” said Holton. He turned then and walked through the
dingy lobby to the elevator.
He and the elevator boy discussed the kind of day it had been. They
also decided that it would be winter soon.
His room looked no more cheerful than usual. Robert Holton sat down on
the bed, leaving the room dark. It gave him a feeling of power to think
that, when he chose, he could turn on a light and dispel the darkness.
He started to think of Trebling but stopped himself. There was nothing
to be done now. The old friendship was gone.
Trebling had mentioned a girl named Carla. He remembered her well. She
had been pretty and intense and wealthy. He had not thought about her
for a long time. She had been a strange girl, gentle and understanding.
He had been greatly attracted to her and she to him.
They had walked around Florence and Fiesole. She had taken him to old
palaces and churches although he hadn’t wanted to go. When he had
objected she told him that she was trying to show him something. He
never knew what it was she wanted to show him. When he left Florence he
told her that he would write: he didn’t, though, and he had not thought
of her again until today.
The thing he had liked most about Carla, the thing he could remember
now, was her way of understanding him. She once told him that it wasn’t
necessary to finish sentences when they talked; that she knew what he
would say and that he should know what she would say.
Sitting in the dark of his hotel room, Robert Holton thought of all
the women he had known and liked; some he had slept with and some he
hadn’t. Most of them he had forgotten. Now he only thought of them when
someone else recalled them to him.
And he did remember about Paris. He remembered the picnic outside
Versailles, although he could not remember the faces of the two girls.
In Europe there had been so many women. He often was surprised now
when he thought of how many he had known. There were periods when he
had been never satisfied. Both Trebling and he had gone about it like
hunters. Trebling was probably still hunting, thought Holton suddenly,
and he wondered if he was, too. No, that was behind him. He had to live
and act in a different way now. He had to be a different person.
Robert Holton turned on the light beside his bed. He blinked in the
yellow light and suddenly he was dissatisfied with the room. He wished
for the first time that he were somewhere else; it didn’t matter where,
just somewhere else. He was a person of great logic, though, and he
asked himself what he would rather be doing and he couldn’t think of
anything else to do. He didn’t want to travel. He had no desire to
escape. There was no place to escape to anyway and Robert Holton who
had a kind of wisdom knew that.