THE MAN IN THE BROOKS SHIRT
339
their life stories. ("Golly," he interjected, "if I were a writer like you!'')
This was one of his greatest pleasures, he said, and he would never go by
plane if he could help it. In the three and a half days that it took a train
to cross the continent, you could meet somebody who was a little bit dif·
ferent, and have a good, long visit with them. Sometimes, also, he would
stop over and look up old friends, but lately that had been disappointing
-so many of them were old or on the wagon, suffering from ulcers or
cirrhosis of the liver.•.•
He spread his hands suddenly. There it was, he indicated; he was
sharing it all with her, like a basket lunch. And, as she accepted it, nod–
ding from time to time in pleasure and recognition, supplementing it
occasionally from her own store, she knew that the actual sharing of his
life was no longer so much in question. During this afternoon of confi·
dences, he had undergone a catharsis. He was at rest now, and happy, and
she was free. He would never he alone again, she thought; in fact,
it
was
as if he had never been alone at all, for by a tremendous ac't of percep·
tion, she had thrust herself back into his past, and was settled there for–
ever, like the dear companion, the twin, we pray for as children, while
our parents, listening, laugh. She had brought it off, and now she was
almost reluctant to leave him. A pang of joy went through her as she
examined her own sorrow and found it to be real. All day she believed
she had been acting a tragic part in something called One Perfect Night,
hut slowly, without her being aware of it, the counterfeit had passed into
the true. She did not understand exactly how it had happened. Perhaps
it was because she had come so very, very
close-tout comprendre,
c'
est
tout aimer-aml
perhaps it was because she was good at the task he had
assigned her: at the sight of his life, waiting to he understood, she had
rolled up her sleeves with all the vigor of a first-class cook confronting a
brand-new kitchen.
"I love you," she said suddenly. "I didn't before, but now I do."
The man glanced sharply at her.
"Then you won\ get off the train ...
?"
"Oh, yes," she said, for now at last she could he truthful with him.
"I'll certainly get off. One reason I love you, I suppose, is because I
am
getting off.''
His dark eyes met hers in perfect comprehension.
"And one reason I'm going to let you do it," he said, "is because
you love me."
She lowered her eyes, astonished, once more, at his shrewdness.
"Hell," he said, "it's a funny thing, but I'm so happy now that I don't
care whether I ever see you again. I probably won't feel that way after
you're gone. Right now I think I can live on this one day for the rest of
my life."
"I hope you can,'' she said, her voice trembling with sincerity. "My
dear, dear Mr. Breen, I hope you can." Then they both began to laugh
wildly because she could not call him by his first name.
