Appointment in Samarra (26 page)

Mrs. Walker was turning the pages of a Christmas book,
Mr. Currier and Mr. Ives,
when she heard the front door open and close. “Who is it?” she sang.

“Me.” Caroline took off her gloves and coat and hat, and her mother put up her hand as though to ward off a too-affectionate kiss (it gave that impression), but when her daughter lowered her head to kiss her, Mrs. Walker cupped Caroline’s chin in the palm of her hand. “Dear,” she said. “Did you have a nice Christmas? Never even telephoned, did you?”

“Yes, I did, but you were out.”

“Yes, I was. I did go to Uncle Sam’s. You look well, dear.”

“I don’t feel well. I feel like the devil. Mother, what—”

“Yes, a little tired. A little strained. Why don’t you make Julian take you—”

“What would you do if I got a divorce?”

“—to Pinehurst. Divorce? Oh, now, Caroline. Four years, almost five. Divorce.”

“I thought so,” said Caroline. She relaxed. “I’m sorry. I just came here because I had to speak to somebody and I didn’t want to talk to somebody that’d blab it all over.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious.”

“But are you? Are you serious, Caroline? That’s a very serious thing, when people start talking about a divorce. We’ve never had a divorce in our family, and I don’t think there was ever one in Julian’s family either. What is it?”

“I’m just fed up. I’m sick and tired and miserable. I’m so miserable and unhappy. I’m so unhappy, Mother, I don’t care if I die.”

“Die, dear? Are you pregnant? Are you, dear? You could be wrong, you know. It might just be the strain, Christmas.” She got up and sat beside Caroline. “Come here, dear. Tell me about it. Mother wants to hear all about it.”

“Caroline wants to cry,” said Caroline, and laughed.

“Oh, this
is
serious. Dear, don’t. Have you missed the second period, dear?”

“Yes. Someone was in our seats. Oh, Mother, please. I’m not pregnant. That’s not it.”

“Are you sure, dear?”

“I’m positive. Mother, please don’t worry about that. That’s not it at all. It isn’t that. I guess I don’t want to talk about it,” said Caroline. “I’ll tell you what’s the matter. I might as well. I’m through with Julian. I want to go away and get a divorce and never hear his name again for a long time. We can go to France, can’t we? Can’t we?”

“Well, I suppose so. This year we ought to be a little more careful, Mr. Chadwick says and Carter. Carter isn’t very optimistic. But we could if we had to, go to Europe I mean. Seven. Twenty-five. Hundred and. Oh, we could go. You wouldn’t want to buy many things, would you, dear?”

“I don’t want to buy anything. I want a divorce. I want to stop being with Julian English and this life. All I am is tired.
It’s nothing more than that. I’m just tired and fed up. I’m all washed up and I want to go away. I want to sleep here tonight and all other nights. I want to forget Julian and I want to talk to somebody and go away. I want to talk to somebody with an English accent or I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“This is serious. Tell me all about it if you want to. Of course if you’d rather not.”

“I’m not making much sense, am I?”

“Did you have a quarrel? Oh, you must have, of course.”

“No. Strangely enough, we didn’t. Not what you’d call a quarrel. That is, we didn’t have any scene or anything. It isn’t as easy as that. That could be fixed, I guess.”

“Well, what then? Julian isn’t in love with someone else, is he? I can’t somehow I can’t believe that. I don’t profess to know much about Julian, or any men, for that matter, but if Julian’s in love with someone else, then I’m no judge at all. If it’s just another woman temporarily, dear, don’t wreck your life on that account, I beg of you. Don’t wreck your whole life. Men are different from us women. An unscrupulous woman can make a man—”

“Period.”

“What, dear?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, as I was saying, dear, please listen. A woman without any scruples—and it might be someone we know. I don’t know a thing about this other woman, but there are unscrupulous women in every strata of life.”

“Mother?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Mother, what did you do with all the old records?”

“What old records, dear? Do you mean the Victrola records? Those?”

“Yes. What did you do with them?”

“Oh, don’t you remember? I gave them to the Y.M.C.A. camp three years ago. You said at the time you didn’t want them, only a few. You took
some.
”

“Oh, so I did.”

“If there’s any special one you want we could send for it. Mr. Peters would be glad to get it I’m sure. He wants me to
buy an autophonic and trade this one in, this Victrola. But I’d never use an autophonic. I never use this one.”

“Orthophonic, Mother.”

“Orthophonic? It sounded like autophonic. Are you sure? Mr. Peters, I was sure he said autophonic. Oh, Caroline, see?”

“What, Mama?”

“See? It’s all over, isn’t it? Your bad spell. Here we are, having one of our discussions about words. You and Julian. You didn’t leave any foolish notes, did you, dear?”

“Oh, God no. I never thought to. Mother, do you really think I came running to you with a silly five-minute quarrel?”

“Well, after all, you’re not upset any more, are you?”

“Do you really think I’m not?”

“Yes. I do. I really think the worst of it has passed, gone. Your father and I had our quarrels, too.”

“When he died you said you never quarreled.”

“I never said that. At least, I never tried to give the impression that we didn’t have our differences. That would be untrue. All high-strung people, people in love, they always have their differences. As a matter of fact, Caroline, I’ve been thinking all along, something told me there wasn’t much to this. I’m nothing if not sympathetic and you know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to see you happy, but I don’t want you to behave like a foolish child and do things and say things you’ll be sorry for later. Divorce! Why the very idea is—it’s wrong, Caroline, and I don’t see how you could say such things. You go on back to Julian, or stay here a while if you want to punish him, but stop this talk about divorce. Understand, I’m not defending Julian, but I should think you’d know how to handle him by this time. Flatter him, use your feminine wiles. You’re a pretty girl and he loves you. Believe me, Caroline, when a wife can’t hold a husband and there’s no other woman, the wife had better stop and see where the lack is in herself. Oh, my. It’s all so much like the time your father and I had our first quarrel.”

“What was your first quarrel about—not that this is my first, but go on, dear. Tell me. Caroline wants to know.”

“It wasn’t anything much. It was personal. Just between your father and I, dear.”

“Sex?”

“Caroline! Yes, it was, in a way. Is that—is—are you and Julian—does he want you to do something you—something…”

If she only knew Julian, Caroline thought; if she only knew me! “No, dear. Julian’s always been very good about that,” she said.

“Oftentimes men don’t understand. Many girls’ lives are ruined, completely wrecked, because men don’t understand how a nice girl feels. But let’s not talk about that. I told you when you were married, I told you to take a firm stand on certain things.”

“You never told me what things, though.”

“Well, dear, a nice girl. I couldn’t very well tell you some things till the matter came up. Apparently it never did, or you’d have come to me, I’m sure. You’re still only a girl, though, Caroline, and if you’re having trouble that way, that sort of trouble, please come to me instead of going to some friend your own age. I think things of that sort ought to be talked over between mother and daughter, not outsiders. I finally learned how to handle your father and my experience isn’t worth a thing, not a snap of the fingers, unless I’m able to help you, hand it on to you. But let’s not talk about it unless you want to.”

“Tell me more about Father,” said Caroline.

“No. No. That’s sacred. Your father never worried me about another woman, not even before we were married. Julian, I think probably Julian—not that it’s anything against him, because he was quite grown up when he fell in love with you. But I don’t think you were the first girl in Julian’s life. I’ve often thought so. That may be a good thing in some cases, but I don’t know.”

“Mother, don’t talk about it if you don’t want to. I’m sorry.”

“Conversations like this aren’t good, Caroline. I’d rather go on, living my poor useless life and loving your father for what he was, a good, decent man, than exhume chapters of our life together. Men are weak, darling. In the hands of a woman the strongest man in the world is weak, so don’t think any the less of Julian or your father or any other man if he has a momentary weakness…. Oh, here I am, talking away about something I
don’t know the first thing about. But you do feel better toward Julian, don’t you? If you do, that’s all that’s necessary.”

“I’m sorry if I was inconsiderate.”

“Oh, you weren’t inconsiderate. You couldn’t be. You were just curious. That shows you’re still a little girl. Want some gum?”

“I’d love some.”

“It’s really very good for the digestion, and I think the muscles of the jaw need the exercise. How are your teeth, Caroline?”

“I’m going to have to have a wisdom tooth out, Dr. Patterson says.”

“Well, he probably knows his business. I still like Dr. Baldwin.”

“Not after lunch, though, Mother.”

“What? Why?”

“He bolts his food or eats too much or something. His stomach rumbles.”

“I never noticed that when I went to him,” said Mrs. Walker. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes. I wouldn’t make up a thing like that.”

“Do you want to stay here tonight? Isn’t there a dance tonight?”

“There’s one in Reading. No, I guess I better not stay here. As a matter of fact, we’re having a party.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. A big party? Who are you having?”

“The usual crowd. The younger crowd, a few from the school crowd, and our own friends. Which reminds me.”

“Is there anything you want?”

“No, but I must go. I was going to call it off when I first came here, but I might as well go through with it, so I must do some shopping, odds and ends. I’ll see you tomorrow or next day. Give me a nice Beech-Nut kiss. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, darling. You’re a sweet girl.”

“You’re the one that’s sweet,” said Caroline. She put on her things in the hall, knowing that her mother was standing at the window, waiting to wave to her. Well, at least she had made some kind of gesture for tradition; she had run to Mother. The
visit had been a fiasco, but she was glad in a way that it had been—glad that it had been a fiasco in the way that it had been, but sorry if it were to result in awakening disturbing memories, whatever they were, for her mother.

She ran down the steps and turned and waved to her mother before getting in the car. Her mother waved and then the curtains fell into place and her mother withdrew from the window. Then Caroline heard a long blast of a Cadillac horn, and she saw Julian in his car, half a block down the street, on the other side. He was waiting. She drove her car near his, staying on her side of the street, and stopped. He got out and sauntered over. He looked like hell.

“Well,” she said.

“You were in there long enough. What did you have to see her for?”

“Now really, Julian. Is that reasonable?”

“Is it reasonable for you to be down here now? What’s it all about? I suppose you had to take down your back hair and have a good cry and so forth.”

No answer.

“Oh, that’s it. Giving her a song and dance about me, I suppose. Little bride runs to mother because hubby doesn’t like her biscuits. For Christ’s sake. Good God, I tried to—what did you tell her? Come on, what did you say?”

“This is no place for a scene.”

“It’s as good a place as any. Better, in fact. It’s safer for you, because I probably won’t do here what I feel like doing.”

“You mean punch me in the face, I suppose.”

“How did you ever guess it?”

“If you take your foot off the running-board I’d like to get going.”

“I suppose you heard about the club.”

“I didn’t. What club? What do you mean, the club? Has the club suspended you on account of the other night?”

“Now she’s interested. No, the club hasn’t suspended me, not as far as I know. This is a different club, this time.”

“The Gibbsville Club?”

“The Gibbsville Club no less.”

“What happened there? What did you do there?”

“I had a little get-together with Mr. Ogden, Captain Ogden, the war hero, the one-armed wonder and snooper extraordinaire.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll find out. You’ll find out soon enough. You said something about going a minute ago. Go ahead.”

“I don’t want to go now till I find out what you’re talking about. More trouble. God, I’m so tired of it.” Her voice broke and she began to cry.

“No scenes on the street, dearie. No scenes on the street. No street scenes, if you please. It’s your idea. Can’t have things like this in public.”

“Oh, Julian, what did you do? My God.” She was now really crying. Her voice had the far-away sound of hollow pain, despairing women in removed rooms down a hospital hall, wailing women at the mouth of a blown-up mine.

“Listen, will you go away with me? Now? This minute? Will you? Will you go away with me?”

“No, no, no, no, no. What did you do? Tell me what you did? What did you do to Froggy?”

“I can’t talk to you like this. Let’s go home.”

“Oh, no. I don’t want to go home. You’ll make me stay with you. Oh, go away, Julian. Please let me alone.” A horn sounded and a small coupe passed. Caroline waved. Julian waved. It was Wilhelmina Hall and the visiting Gould man, from New York. “Are they going to stop?” said Caroline.

“No. They’re going on. Me too,” he said.

“No. What did you do? Tell me. Come in to Mother’s with me. She knows we’re having a quarrel. She won’t bother us.”

“Like a whole lot of hell I will. I’m not going in there. I’m going.”

“If you leave I’m going to call off the party and I’m going to stay here. Be reasonable, Julian. Tell me what happened.”