Three Continents (10 page)

But when they were gone, I thought, Why should I care what or who they are to each other? She had left behind a hair in the comb she had used—I pulled it out to throw away; it was surprisingly thick and strong, more like a piece of wire than a hair. Their lingering presence in my room disturbed me: Actually, it was not so much lingering—that word has something light about it—but more like a cloud heavy with storm and thunder. In fact, it felt so oppressive inside that I thought the weather must have changed; but when I stepped to the window, I found the night to be perfectly balmy and still. The whole party had moved to the edge of the lake in anticipation of the fireworks. I watched from above, looking not so much toward the lake as at the tops of the trees, which seemed to have a veil over them from the softly lit night sky. The first of the rockets came spluttering up, and another and another, popping open and for a moment spreading a little garish color, only to die away very quickly. In contrast, stars and moon, which had appeared dim before, shone with a bright and steady light. Some more fireworks went up—I could hear halfhearted cheering down below—but it was hopeless. Jean's fireworks might have been good enough for a few friends, or for two lovers sitting with their arms around each other by the lake, but they didn't make much of a show at a party, especially not one in celebration of a new world movement. It was a relief when the display was over.

I went down, and found that disappointment with the fireworks had had a bad effect on the party. The local people were beginning to say they were sorry they had missed the fireworks at the high school, which were the usual culmination of this day; some of them thought that, if they hurried, they might still see at least the end of them, so they moved off to their cars and drove away. Mrs. Pickles whispered to Mrs. Schwamm to ask if supper was going to be served—throwing Mrs. Schwamm into a fit of red-faced indignation, her first that day, which had been an unusually benign one for her. “Eating and drinking all day like pigs, and now they ask for supper,” she complained to me. Mrs. Pickles then led off another contingent of local people to the high school, where homemade lemonade and chocolate-chip cookies were traditionally served after the fireworks. The remaining guests, finding that they had overstayed the events of the day, began to wonder which hosts to thank and say good-bye to. The obvious ones were the Rawul, Rani, and Crishi—they stood expectant and smiling, and as fresh as they had been at the start. They returned thanks more effusive than those they received, so that the guests felt themselves royally honored; and it would have been a fine high note for them to leave on, if they hadn't remembered that there was another set of hosts to be thanked.

Unfortunately, Lindsay was not as fresh as she had been at the start of the day. It seemed she had felt shamed by the inadequacy of the fireworks and was blaming Jean, who fought back: “But it was
you
told me to get them!”

“How was I to know you bought this crummy lot—oh are you going? Sweet of you to come—but of course I might have guessed, you're always so
cheap
, Jean.”

The guests backed away, their smiles cooling on their lips. But here Manton stepped forward as a responsible person, and they were relieved to shake the hand he held out to them so warmly: “Wish you could stay—yes wasn't it fun—hope you'll be with us again soon.” Manton had the ability to remember faces and usually to put the right name to them; and even when he didn't, he compensated with extra cordiality, making the guests feel as good with him as with the Rawul's contingent. So it happened that they began to go
straight from the latter to Manton—bypassing Lindsay, who was awkwardly engaged with Jean.

“They would have been fine in Dubuque, Iowa”—which was where Jean came from, from a very down-home background—“but hardly—goodness!—here at Propinquity. Or did you do it on purpose, to make me feel an utter fool in front of my guests?”

Although her complexion, under her crop of gray-brown hair, had turned ruddier than usual, Jean remained admirably unprovoked. But as Lindsay's voice rose—“I'm sure you did it on purpose!”—Jean moved closer to her and said in a low voice, “Have you been—?” Lindsay stepped back, instinctively averting her face. Lindsay had never been alcoholic but she did have tendencies that way—it was in her family—and right from the beginning of their relationship, Jean had thought it necessary to control her intake. Lindsay wanted to be controlled; all her life she had been looking for someone to do just that. But that day she had dipped as freely as everyone else into the bowl of punch we had prepared, so now she felt guilty, and instead of wanting to continue her quarrel with Jean, she was anxious to get away from her.

At once she found an opportunity: Having averted her face from Jean, she saw Manton bidding his gracious farewell to the guests. The sight enraged her, and she strode over to him. She had long slender legs, made for golf courses and country walking; she didn't go in for either, or any sport, but when she was indignant, she strode on them with the energy of a resolute sportswoman. It was in that way she moved in on Manton and hissed “Get out of my house.”

Manton had been brought up as a gentleman and could, at least for a few minutes, keep his poise. So he went right on saying “Delighted you could come” to the guest whose hand he happened to be shaking, even retaining that hand for a while in extra cordiality, though the embarrassed guest was straining to get away.

“Right this minute,” Lindsay said, not troubling to keep her voice down, so that the next guest too could hear her. Two spots of high color had appeared on Manton's cheekbones.

I heard Crishi murmur to Michael, “You'd better do some
thing about your parents.” Lindsay was really losing her head. Addressing the line of guests waiting to shake Manton's hand, she said “You don't have to thank him, he has no business to be here in the first place.” She shook the next hand herself and put on a manner even grander and more effusive than his.

Crishi began skillfully to divert the guests from the Rawul and Rani's line straight to where their cars were parked. Manton and Lindsay were left standing alone, which gave Michael the opportunity to step between them, take an arm of each, and lead them away toward the house. Before they got very far, Jean came up behind them and took charge of Lindsay, leaving Michael to cope with Manton, who was saying “I have never been so insulted in my whole life.”

I ran on ahead into the house and told Barbara that Manton might be ready to leave. She got up at once from where she had been lying on the bed and began very quickly and efficiently to pack up her own and Manton's things; and by the time Michael appeared with Manton, she was almost ready.

Manton was saying “For two pins I'd go straight to New York this minute and never come back again. I mean it,” and he sounded and looked as if he did—very resolute, with his high color and clear cold eyes.

“I won't be a minute, darling,” Barbara said; she had already stepped out of the robe in which she had been lounging around all day and was eagerly getting into her clothes.

“I'd forgotten what your mother was like,” Manton was saying to Michael. “She's a madwoman. I feel more sorry than I can say for you two, that you have to live with such a complete lunatic.”

“That's all right,” Michael said. “We can manage.”

“Yes but don't you think I feel a certain responsibility? However much I might like to get out of here and never see the place again, there is the question of my children.”

“Ready?” Michael asked Barbara, who nodded; she was swiftly twisting up her long blond hair. Michael took the bag she had packed. “One moment,” Manton said. “We have to discuss this.”

Michael was not in a mood to discuss anything. Much shorter and lighter than Manton, he moved much faster. Barbara,
usually a bit phlegmatic, was also moving fast. I followed behind them with Manton, who was addressing himself to me: “I feel I'm letting you down, baby,” he said.

“I'll come to New York. I might stay a few days.”

“If you really want me to,” he offered, “I could stay. I'll swallow my pride and stay—good Lord, one can do that much for one's children.”

By the time we reached the front porch, Barbara had driven the car around and Michael had put their bags in. He held open the door for our father.

“Good-bye, Daddy,” I said. “I'll see you soon.” I only called him Daddy when I wanted him to feel nice; dignified. And in spite of his scrambled departure, he did look dignified. He sat beside Barbara and turned to us for a last word: “It might look as if I'm running away from the situation, but believe me that is not the case. It's simply that one can take so much and no more. Please make my apologies and farewell to the Rani and Rawul. I hope everyone will understand.”

Michael shut the car door. As Barbara drove off, Manton looked back at us with a sorrowful expression. “‘Good-bye, Daddy,'” Michael quoted at me. He could often be cold and contemptuous, and he was so now. He never had any sympathy for Manton; he made no allowances for him at all.

I'm sure Barbara was happy as she drove away with him; and in fact the day ended happily for other people too, so perhaps the Rawul was right and the celebration had been a success. He and the Rani stayed for a long time down by the water where the flags were; they walked up and down there arm in arm—a dynastic couple, an embodiment of traditional matrimony (I didn't know at that time that they weren't married at all). Jean and Lindsay were in the kitchen, where Mrs. Schwamm was fixing a supper for them. It was Jean's belief that quantities of food were the best antidote for Lindsay whenever she had been drinking, while Mrs. Schwamm was at all times happy to feed Lindsay. And Lindsay, relieved to be taken charge of, was calm and obedient and ready to do and eat whatever they wanted her to. Mrs. Schwamm was surveying the events of the day with Teutonic humor, which made Lindsay laugh; and when she laughed, Jean, full of fond love, kissed her cheek and said Lindsay was all better.

And the day ended happily for Michael and me too. Crishi and Michael decided to go for a midnight swim by the waterfall on the outskirts of the property; Michael told me to come along too—he and I often went there; we were the only people who used it except for some Pickles or gardeners' children who had always shared it with us. I would have gone, I wanted to go, but I still had bad feelings about Crishi, so I stayed behind. Awhile after they had left, I was surprised to see Crishi back again. It appeared he had returned for me. When I still wouldn't come, he said “Because of this afternoon.” I didn't deny it. “It was just a game, Harriet; a party game.” “All the same,” I said.

He was silent; he looked down at the ground; he said “What can I say.” He sounded rueful, perhaps a bit annoyed but, if so, it was with himself, not me. He didn't apologize; he didn't try to make me change my mind; he didn't look at me but kept his eyes averted. But I
wanted
to go swimming! And it
had
been a party game! I said “Oh all right; let me get a towel.” “I'll get it!” He bounced off, bounced back again, he took my hand and pulled me along; he was laughing and skipping, so I had to skip along with him. He appeared so glad and relieved that I felt quite flattered, to have had this effect on him.

Not many people knew about our waterfall. It was down a steep incline, and to get to it, you had to leave your shoes at the top and negotiate a descending series of slippery stones, and at the same time hold aside the branches and bushes overhanging this narrow path. Of course for Michael and me it was easy because we were so used to it. Crishi came behind me and once or twice I had to put out my hand to help him and he took it, but mostly he managed very well by himself. Michael was already in the water, swimming around in the pool formed under the waterfall. It was always dark down here even during the day, and at night the pool was like an underground cavern and Michael a white shape gliding around it. Crishi and I left our clothes on the stones at the side and got in with him. One of the good things about swimming here was that conversation was impossible—the roar of the waterfall drowned out all other sounds as it rushed down the rock in a cascade of foam and spray, which was
white by day and silver by night. The three of us swam around in and under the water, and sometimes on our backs, looking up at a few stars flickering there so faintly that only people like us with very good eyes could see them. Crishi, a darker shape than Michael but as slender and swift, seemed to love being underwater, and we never knew when he would be appearing underneath Michael and when underneath me. Michael got out first and sat naked on the stones with his legs drawn up and his arms around them. I saw him look up at the sky and the expression on his raised face was one of utter bliss; the phrase “his streaming countenance” came into my mind. Next moment he was back in the water, and the three of us continued to flit around and beneath one another, our bodies forming patterns that sometimes appeared to intertwine.

T
HE Rawul wanted to meet our grandparents—that is, our paternal ones, from Manton's side (our grandparents from Lindsay's side were dead—that was how we owned Propinquity and the rest of their property). I couldn't see the point of it myself, but he seemed to think it was important; he wanted to make influential contacts wherever he could. Actually, Grandfather wasn't all that influential anymore, for he had retired several years ago. He was also too preoccupied with his own affairs to have time to spare for anything else. By his affairs I mean the book he was writing about his public career; his moves between his house in town and his place on the Island, with all the books and papers he needed to take, and the clothes and makeup Sonya needed; and Sonya herself. She was his wife now—our grandmother had died several years earlier—but they had been together long before that, and whenever he was sent on a new posting, she used to take a place nearby. In the end she moved right into the residence and they became a ménage à trois, which was useful after Grandmother got sick and needed someone to look after her. By that time Sonya was really like her sister, although they couldn't have been more different—Grandmother was New England, and Sonya some sort of Russian refugee. Sonya was much, much more effusive than Grandmother, and she adored children and had never had any of her own, so Michael and I benefited from that all through these years.