NEW INNOCENTS ABROAD
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wanted to ask but checked myself, for it seemed almost unpleasant
to suggest that there had ever been a father. The son had long
since taken the place of the husband, and shared a common life with
his mother more intensely than most husbands do with their wives.
When one looked at Gene's mother, one could read in her bleak
face the need to convert the child into a husband to take the place
of the real husband with whom there had never been the satisfactions
of adult love. From time to time the bus would stop on the road,
and Gene would pop out to shoot something with his camera; it
gave me a funny feeling to see him standing there against the
Italian earth, as he manoeuvred for a shot, while a few peasants
might stop work to gawk gravely. I looked at Gene, raffish in
his
seersucker jacket, flannel slacks, and white shoes, and then at
the grave and coppery peasants, and I thought, "Here is one of the
young virile race, conquerors of these ancient peoples," but I could
not think of him in any relation to that dunged and dry earth. Then
Gene would pop back into the American world of the bus, which
rolled on, and begin his chatter about how he developed his own pic–
tures at home, or what lovely concerts they had
in
Schenectady, and
the musical club Mother belonged to that met once a month at their
house. I found myself suddenly thinking of those ladies in Schenecta–
dy. How did they see Gene? in what terms did they describe him to
themselves? .Probably they said no more than, "Gene is not the
marrying kind," accepting the fact, which must remain unexplored
for them, with the fatality of euphemism, and perhaps adding with
a pleasant coo, "He is so devoted to his mother!" Would they ever
dream of connecting a nice young man like Gene with the bohemians
of the Left Bank,
if
somehow these ladies of Schenectady were able
to catch a glimpse of the private life of the latter? The connection,
nevertheless, exists, and Americans will be compelled to make it
more often as time goes on.
I saw hundreds of Genes abroad, and have known many more
in this country, but he sticks in my mind for those few moments,
which seem to contain all his paradox, when he stood, a very
exotic plant indeed, against the Tuscan earth. Though the Italian
scene brings out details like this more clearly, it would be a mistake
to think that the Italian situation itself, the result of centuries of
adjustment, is not changing under the impact of modern life. There
