Little by little she steered me back to the story she wanted to hear. She was avidly curious about the details. She laughed a great deal—that low, earthy laugh which was provocative and approving at the same time.
«You pick the strangest women,» she said. «You seem to choose with your eyes shut. Don’t you ever think beforehand what it’s going to mean to live with them?»
She went on like this for a space and then suddenly I was aware that she had veered the conversation to Mona. Mona—that puzzled her. What did we have in common, she wanted to know. How could I stand her lies, her pretences—or didn’t I care about such things? Surely there had to be firm ground somewhere… one couldn’t build on quicksands. She had thought about us a great deal, even before she met Mona. She had heard about her, from different sources, had been curious to know her, to understand what the great attraction was…. Mona was beautiful, yes—ravishingly beautiful—and perhaps intelligent too. But God, so theatrical! There was no getting to grips with her; she eluded one like a phantom. «What do you really know about her?» she asked challengingly. «Have you met her parents? Do you know anything about her life before she met you?»
I confessed that I knew almost nothing. Perhaps it was better that I didn’t know, I averred. There was something attractive about the mystery which surrounded her.
«Oh, nonsense!» said Rebecca scathingly. «I don’t think there’s any great mystery there. Her father’s probably a rabbi.»
«What! What makes you say that? How do you know she’s Jewish? I don’t even know it myself.»
«You don’t want to know it, you mean. Of course I don’t know either, except that she denies it so vehemently—that always makes one suspicious. Besides, does she look like the average American type? Come, come, don’t tell me you haven’t suspected as much—you’re not as dumb as all that.»
What surprised me more than anything, as regards these remarks, was the fact that Rebecca had succeeded in discussing the subject with Mona. Not a hint of it had reached my ears. I would have given anything to have been behind a screen during that encounter.
«If you really want to know something,» I said, «I’d rather that she were a Jewess than anything else. I never pump her about that, of course. Evidently it’s a painful subject. She’ll come out with it one day, you’ll see….»
«You’re so damned romantic,» said Rebecca. «Really, you’re incurable. Why should a Jewish girl be any different from a Gentile? I live in both worlds… I don’t find anything strange or marvelous about either.»
«Naturally,» I said. «You’re always the same person. You don’t change from one milieu to another. You’re honest and open. You could get along anywhere with any group or class or race. But most people aren’t that way. Most people are conscious of race, color, religion, nationality, and so on. To me all peoples are mysterious when I look at them closely. I can detect their differences much easier than their kinship. In fact, I like the distinctions which separate them just as much as I like what unites them. I think it’s foolish to pretend that we’re all pretty much the same. Only the great, the truly distinctive individuals, resemble one another. Brotherhood doesn’t start at the bottom, but at the top. The nearer we get to God the more we resemble one another. At the bottom it’s like a rubbish pile… that’s to say, from a distance it all seems like so much rubbish, but when you get nearer you perceive that this so-called «rubbish» is composed of a million-billion different particles. And yet, no matter how different one bit of rubbish is from another, the real difference only asserts itself when you look at something which is not «rubbish». Even if the elements which compose the universe can be broken down into one vital substance… well, I don’t know what I was going to say exactly… maybe this… that as long as there is life there will be differentiation, values, hierarchies. Life is always making pyramidal structures, in every realm. If you’re at the bottom you stress the sameness of things; if you’re at the top, or near it, you become aware of the difference between things. And if something is obscure— especially a person—you’re attracted beyond all power of will. You may find that it was an empty chase, that there was nothing there, nothing more than a question mark, but just the same….»
There was something more I felt like adding. «And there’s the opposite to all this,» I continued. «As with my ex-wife, for instance. Of course I should have suspected that she had another side, hating her as I did for being so damned prudish and proper. It’s all very well to say that an over-modest person is extremely immodest, as the analysts do, but to catch one changing over from the one to the other, that’s something you don’t often have a chance to witness. Or if you do, it’s usually with some one else that the transformation occurs. But yesterday I saw it happen right before my eyes, and not with somebody else, but with me! No matter how much you think you know about a person’s secret thoughts, about their unconscious impulses and all that, nevertheless, when the conversion takes place before your eyes you begin to wonder if you ever did know the person with whom you were living all your life. It’s all right to say to yourself, a propos of a dear friend—’he has all the instincts of a murderer’—but when you see him coming at you with a knife, that’s something else. Somehow you’re never quite prepared for that, no matter how clever you are. At best you might credit him with doing it to some one else —but never to you… oh dear no! The way I feel now is that I should be prepared for anything from those whom you’re apt to suspect least of all. I don’t mean that one should be anxious, no, not that… one shouldn’t be surprised, that’s all. The only surprise should be that you can still be surprised. That’s it. That’s Jesuitical, what! Oh yes, I can spin it out when I get going…. Rabbi, you said a moment ago. Did you ever think that I might make a good rabbi? I mean it. Why not? Why couldn’t I be a rabbi, if I wanted to? Or a pope, or a mandarin, or a Dalai Lama? If you can be a worm you can be a god too.» The conversation went on like this for several hours, broken only by Arthur Raymond’s return. I stayed a while longer, to ally any suspicions he might have, and then retired. Towards dawn Mona returned, wide awake, lovelier than ever, her skin glowing like calcium. She hardly listened to my explanations about the night before; she was exalted, infatuated with herself. So many things had happened since then—she didn’t know where to begin. First of all, they had promised her the role of understudy for the leading part in their next production. That is, the director had—no one else knew anything about it as yet. He was in love with her, the director. Had been slipping love notes in her pay envelopes for the last weeks. And the leading actor, he too was in love with her—madly in love. It was he who had been coaching her all along. He had been teaching her how to breathe, how to relax, how to stand, how to walk, how to use her voice. It was marvelous. She was a new person, with unknown powers. She had faith in herself, a boundless faith. Soon she would have the world at her feet. She’d take New York by storm, tour the country, go abroad maybe… Who could predict what lay ahead? Just the same, she was a little frightened of it all, too. She wanted me to help her; I was to listen to her read the script of her new part. There were so many things she didn’t know—and she didn’t want to reveal her ignorance before her infatuated lovers. Maybe she’d look up that old fossil at the Ritz-Carlton, make him buy her a new outfit. She needed hats, shoes, dresses, blouses, gloves, stockings…. so many, many things. It was important now to look the part. She was going to wear her hair differently too. I had to go with her into the hall and observe the new carriage, the new gait she had acquired. Hadn’t I noticed the change in her voice? Well, I would very soon. She would be completely remade—and I would love her even more. She would be a hundred different women to me now. Suddenly she thought of an old beau whom she had forgotten about, a clerk at the Imperial Hotel. He would buy her everything she
