Seed on the Wind

“I see, your gardening equipment I suppose. One for golfing, one for motoring — didn’t I tell you once your appropriate scene was stucco and roses in Oak Park? Congratulations, you’ve made good. Better, even; the flora are up to standard, and as to two-legged fauna, you’ve more than your share. That being true, why, you ask, do I offer to tell you the story about the princess who couldn’t remember what to do with her fingers? Why do I seek to disrupt an established and smoothly running schedule? Albert the artist, let us say, on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, experiments in rhythm and composition; on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays Lewis the lawyer, man of affairs — shall we suspect here a sacrifice to Mammon? Looking at him, I should say certainly a sacrifice. And on Sundays catch as catch can.”

“That isn’t true,” Lora said. She sat still upright, her hands folded in her lap with the fingers intertwined, her eyes on his face. “I know what you’re doing, you’re trying to make me angry. You used to do that and it used to work. But I don’t get angry anymore, and what you say isn’t true, not a word of it.”

“It was only a guess, I may have the days wrong.”

“I tell you it isn’t true!”

“What isn’t?” He peered at her. “What isn’t true?”

“What you said.” She stopped, shutting her lips tight, then began again, “You know I can’t talk. Listen, Pete. I don’t want to talk. That isn’t true, what you said — it isn’t true with Albert or Lewis or anybody. It never has been, the way it was with you. Now I’m an awful fool, I shouldn’t have talked at all, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I’ve never felt that way, not once, I’ve never done any of those things, I’ve never wanted to. I think I was crazy, with you. It was so long ago it seems like another person and I can’t believe it, but I must have been crazy. Now... again... I knew it right away this afternoon when I saw you getting out of the car with Lewis...”

She felt herself trembling, and stopped.

“Crazy hell,” Pete said. “Come over here.”

She shook her head. He got up and stood beside her chair for a moment, then reached down and began removing the pins from her hair. A strand fell, then another, while she sat motionless.

“I like it better down,” he said. “What’s the matter with you? Talk about crazy, you’re crazy if what you just said is true. Good god, are you a dried-up nun, to take it out in praying and pinching yourself? Ah, your throat is as smooth and white, your hair still talks to my fingers, and who would dream — let me see, let me see — who would dream that four pairs of lips had dined and breakfasted there?” He chuckled. “Infant lips, mind you — the others shall not be counted now. Just as it should be, precisely a handful, a warm round handful — that is unquestionably an improvement, formerly they were firmer and more discreet — this is better, riper— Oh, much riper and better. You would deny all this? And this, and this? Here — come — what—”

Suddenly and swiftly she slipped out from under his hands and his face, drawing herself down and forward, free of him, and the next instant was on her feet three paces away, facing him. She was breathing quickly, and the hand that was rearranging the front of her dress was visibly trembling.

“What the hell,” he said, straightening up but making no move towards her.

“Not here,” she said.

“All right. But you needn’t get heroic about it. I wasn’t contemplating rape.”

“I’m not heroic. I had to do that.”

“Well.” He grinned, and bowed. “What next? Your room? That would be better, of course. Upstairs? I confess I’m a little impatient myself.”

She shook her head. “Not here. Not tonight.”

“Not tonight! You are crazy. Good god, are you holding out for a courtship?”

“I’m not holding out. Don’t be smart, Pete. Don’t you see — I want it to be better. The children are upstairs, and I don’t — not here. You can rape me if you want to, that’s exactly what you can do — do you remember how we did that? I’ll come anywhere you say. In town, in New York. Not here.”

“So you’re putting me off. What for?”

“I’m putting myself off.”

“Come to town with me now then. Is there a train?”

She shook her head. “There’s a train, the last one, but I won’t go now. I’ll come tomorrow, any time you say.”

“Let me sleep here, and we’ll go in together in the morning.”

Again she shook her head. “Please, Pete, don’t. I’ve got to arrange things. I’ll come, listen, there’s a train that leaves here at two in the afternoon, gets to Grand Central a little after three. You meet me at the station, or tell me where to come if you’d rather. I’ll stay all night if you want me to; I can arrange that. You must go now, please. Please go.”

“These long engagements are dangerous, my love. By tomorrow I might forget all about it.”

“No you won’t.”

“The hell I won’t. You’re right probably, but you’re not so nice this way, you know too much.”