PULL DOWN VANITYI
447
an actor in a farce, and I felt such a ninny I could not finish. Though
the tidal motion of her hips had ceased at last, and she had rolled away
from me to lie prone with her hands folded behind her head, she was
not listening to me.
"Do you know," she began as
if
to herself, "Hank hasn't made love
to me in six months. Not even this much. He never wants me any more.
If
he would only take me like this-only this- I would be so happy.
You're so strong, Milton, so strong." She reached over to touch my biceps
submissively. "I know that it's his writing that's the trouble.
If
he
could only publish something he would feel like a man. He would feel
he had earned me, earned the right to love me. He's very- very
chivalrous." She laughed quietly to herself at the ridiculous word. "I
try
to understand him! I try very hard- "
There was the expected sound from above at last, Hank stumbling
down the stairs toward the cellar.
"I've been faithful to him for two years, two and a half now. I
swear to you, you're the first I've gone even this far with, and God
knows it's been hard. I'm pretty, you know, and-and I need loving,
a lot of it. But he doesn't want me. You want me, don't you, Milton?"
She had risen before I could answer, almost as
if
she were afraid to wait
for my response; and had gone into the kitchen alcove, where she turned
on the water, very hard. "It's just that poetry of his, I know.
If
only
someone would tell him how good
it
is. He needs confidence so badly,
and I can't seem to give it to him-confidence in his own power- Oh,
Milton, I love you!"
She seemed quite unaware of the inconsequence of her final remark,
and meanwhile, Hank was at the door, smiling sheepishly at me, as
if
preparing to apologize for something in which
he
had been caught out.
"Susie's asleep-asleep. I hope you enjoyed yourself while I was
gone."
"If
you call washing dishes enjoying yourself!" Judith shouted
over the clatter in the sink. She was not, I suppose, really trying to
deceive him, merely lying out of some etiquette I
did
not understand,
some allegiance to the abstract notion of what a woman must do.
"It's late. I have to go." I started for the door quickly
in
a kind
of flight, but Judith followed, wiping her hands on her apron. "You
never talked about your children," she said plaintively. "I still don't
even know their names."
"Stay, stay!" Hank insisted. "You haven't told me yet what's wrong
with Carl Sandburg.
It
was just getting interesting."
But I was already through the door and into the desolate yard.
Judith came out after me, Hank's poems in her hand.
