I’ll rub you down, I said, grabbing the towel.
While I rubbed and patted and stroked her she kept purring like a cat. Finally I doused her all over with cologne water. She enjoyed that too.
You’re so wonderful, she said. I do love you, Val. I really do. She embraced me warmly.
To-morrow you get paid, don’t you? she said. I wish you would buy me a brassiere and a pair of stockings. I need them bad.
Of course, I replied. Isn’t there anything else you would like?
No, that’s all, Val dear.
Sure? I can get you anything you need—to-morrow.
She gave me a coy look.
All right then, just one thing more.
What’s that?
A bunch of violets.
We rounded off this scene of connubial bliss with a royal fuck which was twice interrupted by Stasia who pretended to be searching for something or other and who continued to pace up and down the hall even after we had quieted down.
Then something really weird occurred. Just as I was dozing off who should come to the bedside, bend over me tenderly and kiss me on the forehead, but Stasia. Goodnight, she said. Pleasant dreams!
I was too exhausted to bother my head with interpretations of this strange gesture. Lonely, that’s what! was all I could think at the moment.
In the morning they were up and about before I had rubbed the sand out of my eyes. Still cheerful, still eager to give me pleasure. Could it be the salary I was bringing home that had gone to their heads? And why strawberries for breakfast? Strawberries smothered in heavy cream. Whew!
Then another unusual thing occurred. As I was leaving, Mona insisted on escorting me to the street.
What’s the matter? I said. Why this?
I want to see you off, that’s all. She threw me one of those smiles—the indulgent mother kind.
She remained standing at the railing, in her light kimono, as I trotted off. Half-way down the block I turned to see if she was still there. She was. She waved goodbye. I waved back.
In the train I settled down for a brief snooze. What a beautiful way to begin the day! (And no more graves to be dug.) Strawberries for breakfast. Mona waving me off. Everything so ducky, so as it should be. Superlatively so. At last I had hit the groove…
Saturdays we worked only a half day. I collected my wages, had lunch with Tony, during which he explained what my new duties would be, then we took a spin through the Park, and finally I set out for home. On the way I bought two pairs of stockings, a brassiere, a bouquet of Violets—and a German cheese cake. (The cheese cake was a treat for myself.)
It was dark by the time I arrived in front of the house. There were no lights on inside. Funny, I thought. Were they playing hide and seek with me? I walked in, lit a couple of candles, and threw a quick look around. Something was amiss. For a sec I thought we had been visited by burglars. A glance at Stasia’s room only heightened my apprehension. Her trunk and valise were gone. In fact, the room was stripped of all her belongings. Had she fled the coop? Was that why the goodnight kiss? I inspected the other rooms. Some of the bureau drawers were open, discarded clothing was scattered all about. The state of disorder indicated that the evacuation had been wild and sudden like. That sinking feeling that I had experienced standing at the bottom of the grave came over me.
At the desk near the window I thought I saw a piece of paper—a note perhaps. Sure enough, under a paper weight was a note scrawled in pencil. It was in Mona’s hand.
Dear Val, it ran. We sailed this morning on the Rochambeau. Didn’t have the heart to tell you. Write care of American Express, Paris. Love.
I read it again. One always does when it’s a fateful message. Then I sank on to the chair at the desk. At first the tears came slowly, drop by drop, as it were. Then they gushed forth. Soon I was sobbing. Terrible sobs that ripped me from stem to stern. How could she do this to me? I knew they were going without me—but not like this. Running off like two naughty children. And that last minute act—bring me a bunch of violets! Why? To throw me off the track? Was that necessary? Had I become as a child? Only a child is treated thus.
In spite of the sobs my anger rose. I raised my fist and cursed them for a pair of double-crossing bitches; I prayed that the ship would sink, I swore that I’d never send them a penny, never, even if they were starving to death. Then, to relieve the anguish, I rose to my feet and hurled the paper weight at the photo above the desk. Grabbing a book, I smashed another picture. From room to room I moved, smashing everything in sight. Suddenly I noticed a heap of discarded clothing in a corner. It was Mona’s. I picked up each article—panties, brassiere, blouse—and automatically sniffed them. They still reeked of the perfume she used. I gathered them up and stuffed them under my pillow. Then I began to yell. I yelled and yelled and yelled. And when I had finished yelling I started singing—Let me call you sweetheart … I’m in love with you-ou-ou … The cheese cake was staring me in the face. Fuck you! I shouted, and raising it above my head I splattered it against the wall.
It was at this point that the door softly opened and there with hands clasped over her bosom stood one of the Dutch sisters from upstairs.
My poor man, my poor, dear man, said she, coming close and making as if to throw her arms around me. Please, please don’t take it so hard! I know how you feel … yes, it’s terrible. But they will come back.
This tender little speech started the tears flowing again. She put her arms around me, kissed me on both cheeks. I made no objection. Then she led me to the bed and sat down, pulling me beside her.
In spite of my grief I couldn’t help noting her slovenly appearance. Over her frayed pajamas—she wore them all day apparently—she had thrown a stained kimono. Her stockings hung loosely about her ankles; hairpins were dangling from her mop of tousled hair. She was a frump, no mistake about it. Frump or no frump, however, she was genuinely distressed, genuinely concerned for me.
With one arm around my shoulder she told me gently but tactfully that she had been aware for some time of all that was going on. But I had to hold my tongue, she said. She paused now and then to permit me to give way to my grief. Finally she assured me that Mona loved me. Yes, she said, she loves you dearly.
I was about to protest these words when again the door opened softly and there stood the other sister. This one was better attired and more attractive looking. She came over and after a few soft words sat down on the other side of me. The two of them now held my hands in theirs. What a picture it must have been!
Such solicitude! Did they imagine that I was ready to blow my brains out? Over and over they assured me that everything was for the best. Patience, patience! In the end everything would work out well. It was inevitable, they said. Why? Because I was such a good person. God was testing me, that was all.
Often, said the one, we wanted to come down and console you, but we didn’t dare to intrude. We knew how you felt. We could tell when you paced back and forth, back and forth. It was heart-rending, but what could we do?
It was getting too much for me, all this sympathizing. I got up and lit a cigarette. The frumpy one now excused herself and ran upstairs.
She’ll be back in a minute, said the other. She began telling me about their life in Holland. Something she said, or the way she said it, caused me to laugh. She clapped her hands with delight. See, it’s not so bad after all, is it? You can still laugh.
With this I began to laugh harder, much harder. It was impossible to say whether I was laughing or weeping. I couldn’t stop.
There now, there now, she said, pressing me to her and cooing. Put your head on my shoulder. That’s it. My, but you have a tender hearth)
Ridiculous as it was, it felt good to give way on her shoulder. I even felt a slight stirring of sex, locked in her motherly embrace.
Her sister now reappeared bearing a tray on which there was a decanter, three glasses and some biscuits.
This will make you feel better, she said, pouring me a potion of schnaps.
We clinked glasses, as if it were a happy event we were celebrating, and swallowed. It was pure fire water.
Have another, said the other sister and refilled the glasses. There, doesn’t that feel good? It burns, eh? But it gives you spirit.
We had two or three more in rapid fire succession. Each time they said—There, don’t you feel better now?
Better or worse, I couldn’t say. All I knew was that my guts were on fire. And then the room began to spin.
Lie down, they urged, and grasping me by the arms they
