The last gave me a jolt. You really believe that, do you?
Believe it? she echoed. If she didn’t have you there would be no reason for her to exist. You’re her life…
And you? Where do you fit in?
She gave me a weird smile. Me? I’m just another piece of the unreality she creates around her. Or a mirror perhaps in which she catches a glimpse of her true self now and then. Distorted, of course.
Then, veering to more familiar ground, she said: Why don’t you make her stop this gold-digging? There’s no need for it. Besides, it’s disgusting the way she goes at it. What makes her do it I don’t know. It’s not money she’s after. Money is only the pretext for something else. It’s as though she digs at some one just to awaken interest in herself. And the moment one shows a sign of real interest she humiliates him. Even poor Ricardo had to be tortured; she had him squirming like an eel … We’ve got to do something, you and I. This has to stop.
If you were to take a job, she continued, she wouldn’t have to go to that horrible place every night and listen to all those filthy-mouthed creatures who fawn on her. What’s stopping you? Are you afraid she would be unhappy leading a humdrum existence? Or perhaps you think I’m the one who’s leading her astray? Do you? Do you think I like this sort of life? No matter what you think of me you must surely realize that I have nothing to do with all this.
She stopped dead.
Why don’t you speak Say something!
Just as I was about to open my trap in walks Mona—with a bunch of violets. A peace offering.
Soon the atmosphere became so peaceful, so harmonious, that they were almost beside themselves. Mona got out her mending and Stasia her paint box. I took it all in as if it were happening on the stage.
In less than no time Stasia had made a recognizable portrait of me—on the wall which I was facing. It was the in the image of a Chinese mandarin, garbed in a Chinese blue jacket, which emphasized the austere, sage-like expression I had evidently assumed.
Mona thought it ravishing. She also commended me in a motherly way for sitting so still and for being so sweet to Stasia. She had always known we would one day get to know one another, become firm friends. And so on.
She was so happy that in her excitement she inadvertently spilled the contents of her purse on the table—looking for a cigarette—and out fell the letter. To her astonishment I picked it up and handed it to her, without the slightest attempt to scan a line or two.
Why don’t you let him read it? said Stasia.
I will, she said, but not now. I don’t want to spoil this moment.
Said Stasia: There’s nothing in it to be ashamed of.
I know that, said Mona.
Forget about it, said I. Fm no longer curious.
You’re wonderful, the two of you! How could any one help loving you? I love you both, dearly.
To this outburst Stasia, now in a slightly Satanic mood, replied: Tell us, whom do you love more?
Without the slightest hesitation came the reply. I couldn’t possibly love either of you more. I love you both. My love for one has nothing to do with my love for the other. The more I love you, Val, the more I love Stasia.
There’s an answer for you, said Stasia, picking up her brush to resume work on the portrait.
There was silence for a few moments, then Mona spoke up. What on earth were you two talking about while I was gone?
About you, of course, said Stasia. Weren’t we, Val?
Yes, we were saying what a wonderful creature you are. Only we couldn’t understand why you try to keep things from us.
She bristled immediately. What things? What do you mean?
Let’s not go into it now, said Stasia, plying the brush. But soon we ought to sit down, the three of us, and get things straight, don’t you think? With this she turned round and looked Mona full in the face.
I have no objection, was Mona’s cold response. See, she’s peeved, said Stasia. She doesn’t understand, said I.
Again a flare up. What don’t I understand? What is this? What are you driving at, the two of you?
We really didn’t have much to say while you were gone, I put in. We were talking about truth and truthfulness mostly … Stasia, as you know, is a very truthful person.
A faint smile spread over Mona’s lips. She was about to say something, but I cut in.
It’s nothing to worry about. We’re not going to put you through a cross-examination.
We only want to see how honest you can be, said Stasia.
You talk as if I were playing a game with you.
Exactly, said Stasia.
So that’s it! I leave the two of you alone for a few minutes and you rip me up the back. What have I done to deserve such treatment?
At this point I lost track of the conversation. All I could think of was that last remark—what have I done to deserve such treatment! It was my mother’s favorite phrase when in distress. Usually she accompanied it with a backward tilt of the head, as if addressing her words to the Almighty. The first time I heard it—I was only a child—it filled me with terror and disgust. It was the tone of voice more than the words which roused my resentment. Such self-righteousness! Such self-pity! As if God had singled her out, her, a model of a creature, for wanton punishment.
Hearing it now, from Mona’s lips, I felt as if the ground had opened beneath my feet. Then you are guilty, I said to myself. Guilty of what I made no effort to define. Guilty, that was all.
Now and then Barley dropped in of an afternoon, closeted himself with Stasia in her little room, laid a few eggs (poems), then fled precipitously. Each time he called strange sounds emanated from the hall bedroom. Animal cries, in which fear and ecstasy were combined. As if we had been visited by a stray alley cat.
Once Ulric called, but found the atmosphere so depressing I knew he would never repeat the visit. He spoke as of I were going through another phase. His attitude was—when you emerge from the tunnel, look me up! He was too discreet to make any comment on Stasia. All he dropped was: A rum one, that!
To further the courtship I decided one day to get tickets for the theatre It was agreed that we would meet outside the theatre. The evening came. I waited patiently a half-hour after the curtain had risen, but no Mona. Like a school-boy, I had bought a bunch of violets to present her. Catching a reflection of myself in a shop window, the violets in my mitt, I suddenly felt so foolish that I dropped the violets and walked away. Nearing the corner, I turned round just in time to catch sight of a young girl in the act of recovering the violets. She raised them to her nostrils, took a deep whiff, then threw them away.
On reaching the house I noticed that the lights were on full blast. I stood outside a few minutes, bewildered by the burst of song from within. For a moment I wondered if there were visitors. But no, it was just the two of them. They were certainly in high spirits.
The song which they were singing at the top of their lungs was—Let Me Call You Sweetheart.
Let’s sing it again! said I, as I walked in.
And we did, all three of us.
Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you…
Again we sang it, and again. The third time around I put up my hand.
Where were you? I bawled.
Where was I? said Mona. Why, right here.
And our date?
I didn’t think you were serious.
You didn’t? With that I gave her a sound slap in the puss. A real clout.
Next time, my lady, I’ll drag you there by the tail.
I sat down at the gut table and took a good look at them. My anger fell away.
I didn’t mean to hit you so hard, said I, removing my hat. You’re unusually gay this evening. What’s happened?
They took me by the arm and escorted me to the rear of the place, where the laundry tubs used to stand.
That’s what, said Mona, pointing to a pile of groceries. I had to be here when they arrived. There was no way to let you know in time. That’s why I didn’t meet you.
She dove into the pile and extracted a bottle of Benedictine. Stasia had already selected some black caviar and biscuits.
I didn’t bother to ask how they had come by the loot. That would leak out of itself, later.
Isn’t there any wine? I asked.
Wine? Of course there was. What would I like—Bordeaux, Rhine wine, Moselle, Chianti, Burgundy … ?
We opened a bottle of Rhine wine, a jar of lachs, and a tin of English biscuits—the finest. Resumed our places around the gut table.
Stasia’s pregnant, said Mona. Like she might have said—Stasia’s got a new dress.
Is that what you were celebrating?
Of course not.
I turned to Stasia. Tell us about it, I said, I’m all ears.
She turned red and looked helplessly at Mona. Let her tell you, she said.
I turned to Mona. Well?
It’s a long story, Val, but I’ll make it short. She was attacked by a bunch of gangsters
