Harold and Maude (9 page)

Later, Maude demonstrated the Tai Chi. “Poetic names for poetic movements,” she called it.

“To exercise my transportation,” said Harold with a grin.

“Partly.” Maude smiled. “But it will also uplift your spirit and bring peace to your mind.”

And to the sounds of the sea she taught him, among others, “The Wild Horse Ruffles Its Mane,” “Repulse the Monkey,” “Jade Ladies at the Shuttle,” and “Grasping the Sparrow's Tail.”

They sat on an old log to watch the sun go down. It put on a spectacular display, throwing varying hues of red, orange, and purple across the banks of clouds.

“Cumulus and alto stratus,” said Maude absently. “Reminds me of Shanghai in the thirties.”

“Why's that?”

“Oh, we'd fly out of Hung-Jao in a two-seater. Gliding and looping. Like pearl diving. Or galloping across the desert to touch the setting sun. Now,
there's an experience, Harold. The desert! We should go. Though I suppose we couldn't do it before Saturday. What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Oh, I have a luncheon date, with this girl.”

“Really?”

“It means nothing. My mother set it up.”

“It might mean something to her.”

“To my mother?”

“And to the girl. Be kind, Harold. You see, I've lived a long time, seen all that I wished, done all that I could, yet it's been my experience that it's kindness that matters, and kindness is what the world sorely lacks.”

The wind blew gently in her hair. Harold reached over and took her hand. He looked down at the wrinkles and the splotches of age, and covered it with his. “You're beautiful,” he said.

“Oh, Harold,” said Maude. “You'll make me blush. I feel like a schoolgirl.”

He smiled and kissed her hand. “Thank you,” he said, “for a wonderful day.”

“Wasn't it marvelous?” she said. “And now we're seeing it end.”

She turned and looked out at the setting sun. “There it goes,” she said wistfully. “Sinking over the horizon where we're all going to go. The colors are changing and soon they'll be gone, leaving us with darkness—and stars.”

Harold held her hand in his. Glancing down he saw for the first time the tattoo etched on the inside of her arm. It was a number—D-726350. Shocked, he looked up at her face.

She hadn't noticed. She pointed out to sea and cried, “Harold, look!”

A lone seagull flew over the waves.

They both watched it for a moment, soaring freely in the reddening sky.

“Dreyfus once wrote,” said Maude softly, “that on Devil's Island he would see the most glorious birds. Many years later in Brittany he realized they had only been seagulls.”

She looked at Harold and smiled.

“To me,” she said, “they will always be glorious birds.”

“H
AROLD
,”
SAID
M
RS.
C
HASEN
, “I cannot impress upon you too strongly the importance of this meeting. She is the last girl. The Computer Dating Company was reluctant to send anyone in view of what they heard. And can you blame them? Why, that poor little Edith left here quite shaken. Fortunately, I was able to demand that the company stand by their original agreement. But kindly remember, Harold, this is your third and final chance.”

The doorbell rang.

“There she is now, and look at you. Comb your hair and straighten your tie. Please, Harold, try to take this seriously, if not for your sake, at least for mine.”

Mrs. Chasen left the room, and Harold went to the mirror to straighten his tie. He brushed his hair off his forehead and decided, as he looked at himself, that this time he would at least try.

Mrs. Chasen came back with a tall long-haired girl in boots, a leather skirt, and a floppy red hat.

“Harold,” she said. “I'd like you to meet Sunshine Doré.”

Harold approached them. “How do you do?” he said.

“Can't complain,” said Sunshine. She had a wide mouth and large teeth.

“Sunshine is an actress,” said Mrs. Chasen.

“I like to think so,” said Sunshine, idly swinging the strands of beads that hung around her neck. “I work at it.”

“Now, why don't I leave you two alone for a moment,” said Mrs. Chasen. “Harold, you could talk in the den, and I'll bring in some drinks. Is lemonade all right?”

“Groovy,” said Sunshine.

“Good,” said Mrs. Chasen, and left for the kitchen. She turned at the door to prompt her son. “Harold, perhaps Starlight would like a cigarette.”

“That's
Sunshine
,” said Sunshine.

“Yes, of course,” said Mrs. Chasen, and left.

“Would you like a cigarette?” asked Harold as he led her into the den.

“No, thank you. They stain my fingers.”

He gestured at the couch. She sat down, and he sat beside her.

“Is Sunshine your real name?” asked Harold, after a pause.

“Well, actually, it was the name of my drama teacher—Louis Sunshine. Perhaps you've heard of him?”

Harold shook his head.

“He's mainly a theater personality. Well, he was such an influence on the development of my instrument—that means my body in theater talk—that when I went to Hollywood and felt the need to express the emerging me in a new form, I took on ‘Sunshine.' As a tribute. Doré is my real name. Well, Dore, actually.”

She looked around the den. “Gee, what a lovely place you have here.” She stood up and walked about. “I mean, it's really well decorated. Nice furnishings. They remind me of the auction at MGM.”

Harold swallowed.

“Do you play?” she asked, running her hand along the piano.

“No,” said Harold. “I'm learning the banjo. Do you?”

“Oh, I studied the guitar. I had a folk-singing class. But I had to give it up. Gave me calluses on my fingers. As an actress, I can't afford to have a tarnished instrument.”

“No,” said Harold. “I suppose not.” This wasn't easy, he decided. He tried again. “Do you do a lot of acting?”

“Oh, sure. I practice every day. That's the Sunshine Method: Keep your instrument finely tuned. Is this your father?” she asked, picking up a photograph of General Ball.

“No. My uncle.”

“He's in the Army! I do so like the military, don't you? Those uniforms make men look so virile.”

Harold grimaced.

“I did
What Price Glory?
in summer stock,” she said, putting down the photograph. “A great production. I played Charmaine—with a French accent.”

She went over to the mantelpiece. Harold sat on the couch, patting his thighs.

“Gee, what a lovely collection of knives. Hunting knives, soldier's knives, antiques. We had a display like this when we did Ibsen's
The Seagull
. May I see them?”

Harold took a deep breath. “That's it,” he said.

“That's what?” asked Sunshine.

Harold came over to her. “That's a really good collection of knives,” he said. “Allow me.” He took one down. “Now, this knife is very interesting. It's a hara-kiri blade.”

“Ohhhh,” cooed Sunshine. “What's hara-kiri?”

“An ancient Japanese ceremony.”

“Like a tea ceremony?”

“No. Like this.” With an Oriental scream, he plunged the knife in his belly and dropped to his knees. Bleeding profusely, he continued the upper cut, the side cut, and the gouging, then tumbled forward with a terminal shudder.

Sunshine dropped to her knees, wide-eyed. “Oh, Harold,” she cried. “That was marvelous! It had the ring of truth. Harold. Please. Who did you study with?”

She drew back. “I'm sorry, Harold,” she whispered, self-reproachfully. “I don't want to break into your private moment. I know how exhausting true emotion can be. I played Juliet at the Sunshine Playhouse. Louie thought it was my best performance.”

Harold heard her throw off her hat and rearrange her hair. In seconds she had transformed herself into Juliet, and, as her unbelieving Romeo listened, she acted out her final scene in that tragic drama.

“What's here” she cried. “A cup! Closed in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end.
Oh, churl!” She whacked him. “Drunk all, and left no friendly drop to help me after? I will kiss thy lips.”

Harold opened his eyes, terrified.

“Happily, some poison yet doth hang on them, to make me die with a restorative.”

She kissed Harold, who immediately got up.

“Thy lips are warm,” whispered Sunshine to the gallery.

Harold backed away, knocking over the telephone table.

“Yea, noise!” shouted Sunshine. “Then I'll be brief.” She picked up the knife.

“Oh, happy dagger!” she cried. She took a moment out to test it, pushing the blade into the handle and seeing how it squirted out blood. Satisfied, she continued.

“Oh, happy dagger!” she cried. “This is thy sheath.” She pounded her chest. Then, with a mighty thrust and an accompanying gulp, she stabbed herself between the beads and breasts.

She paused to catch her breath. “There,” she whispered, clutching the knife to her bosom and staggering to the couch. “There rest …” She collapsed across the couch, languidly draping her hair over the end.

“And … let … me … DIE!” With a last toss of the head, she expired, the bloody dagger clenched in her bloody fist and stuck in her bloody chest.

Harold had never seen anything like it. He wandered around the couch, bewildered.

Mrs. Chasen entered with a tray of drinks, took one glance at the couch, and dropped them all.

She looked at her son and flung out an accusing arm. “Harold!” she cried, exasperated. “That was your last
date!
”

G
ENERAL
B
ALL'S ADJUTANT
unlocked the file cabinet marked
Top Secret
and took out the draft file of Harold Chasen. He locked the cabinet and brought the file into the General's office.

The General stood before a mirror with his coat off, adjusting his mechanical arm.

“Here's the file, sir,” said the adjutant, putting it down on the desk.

“Oh, good work, Rodgers. Come over here for a second, will you? I think I have a screw loose, or something.”

M
RS.
C
HASEN ASKED
H
AROLD
to meet her in the den before dinner. Standing regally in front of him, she delivered her verdict.

“Harold, I spoke with Dr. Harley today, and it seems you have missed your last two appointments.
That information, coupled with your recent behavior, particularly your performance here this afternoon, has left me with no recourse but to listen to the solution proposed by your uncle. Consequently, I have instructed him to take the necessary measures for you to be inducted into the service and, as soon as possible, to take up active duty with the United States Army.”

Harold stood up, thunderstruck.

“This was a difficult decision for me to make,” she added. “But it is for your own good. I only hope that they have more luck with you than I.”

T
HE NEXT DAY
H
AROLD
found Maude helping Madame Arouet in her garden. Madame Arouet was putting up bean poles and stringing between them bits of cloth and tin. Maude was over in a corner, clearing the weeds for a new vegetable patch.

“Maude,” said Harold, “I must speak to you.”

“What is it, Harold?” she asked.

“They're going to draft me. In the Army. I'm going to be sent to war for the government.”

“They can't do that,” said Maude, completely unperturbed. “You haven't voted.”

“But they have,” said Harold.

“Oh, well,” she said, “don't go. Perhaps today war
is part of the human condition. But it shouldn't be encouraged. Bring over that wheelbarrow, would you please, Harold?”

Harold swallowed. He went and got the wheelbarrow. “If I don't go,” he said, “they'll put me in jail.”

“Really?” said Maude, forking the weeds into the wheelbarrow. “Well, historically, you'd be in very good company.”

She laughed and paused to wipe her brow. “Would you like to do a little hoeing, Harold?” she asked. “Work, I'm told, done with no selfish interest, purifies the mind. Apparently, you sink your separate self and become one with the universal self. On the other hand, senseless labor is an insult and a bore and should be scrupulously avoided.”

“Maude. Please!” said Harold. “Do you think you could help me?”

Maude leaned over her pitchfork. “Harold,” she said, smiling, “with your skill and my experience—well, I think we can come up with something.”

H
AROLD SAT NEXT
to his uncle in the back seat of the general's limousine. As they drove through the city, he listened attentively as his uncle spoke of the glories of an Army career.

“Harold,” said Uncle Victor, “I want you to look
on me as a father in this matter. We'll spend the day just getting to know each other. Now, I know that you have no great desire to join the Army. Hell, I felt the same way myself, when I started out. But my father set me straight, and look at me now—a general! With a chauffeur. Respect. Money in the bank.” He patted his empty sleeve as he took out a cigar. “Oh, it has its drawbacks. Like anything else, I suppose. But the Army takes care of you. Believe me. Once you get to know it, you'll love it. By the way, where do you think we should go?”

“I was thinking maybe up to McKinley Park,” said Harold. “We could walk around there and talk.”

“You mean by the McKinley Dam? Good idea. That's a lovely spot. Hear that, sergeant? McKinley Park.”

The general lit his cigar. “Yes, indeed, Harold. You join up, and you've got a buddy for life.”

They arrived at McKinley Park, and left the car and chauffeur. As they walked along the path, General Ball looked over at the mothers with their small children, and the senior citizens basking in the sun.