448
PARTISAN REVIEW
"You forgot these," she said accusingly. "We have to help
him,
Milton!" It was as
if
we were old accomplices; and when I reached
out to take the manuscript, she leaned over to kiss me again, gently this
time, her hands clasped behind my neck. I could see in the glare of the
street lamp how pale her lips were, kissed clean of lipstick; and I
could taste her blood where I must have bitten her earlier.
"There's no sense to this," I whispered to her. "This is an end, not
a beginning. Good-by." I pressed her to me hard to emphasize the
point: it was all over! And in my relief at being safely through it, I felt
for her pity and a momentary tenderness.
But
if
she had heard my valedictory, she did not believe it. "Oh
tighter," she moaned, "hold
me
tighter. Why doesn't Hank hold me like
this. Oh, Milton- I even like your name."
It must have been at this point that I dropped the poems, though I
did not realize it until I was back in my room, troubled and sleepless
in the dormitory bed. "No more," I insisted. "It's stupid and cruel and
enough!"
"I'm on the morning shift this week at the Campus Grille- I'll
be home every night alone. Hank's got a job as a bartender from eight
till closing." She did not listen at all, only stared at me as
if
she were
memorizing my face. "It's up to you now, Milton-up to you!"
"1 won't come!" I don't know whether I said the words aloud,
or only over and over to myself like a sulky child: I won't, I won't,
I won't!
The next morning before my first poetry session, I went into the
Campus Grille for a cup of coffee. In half an hour I knew I would
be standing safely before the group who admired me, reading Dylan
Thomas, the images exploding here and there along the long phrases
like fireworks in a wide night sky, and the class would sigh passionately
with the passionate music of my voice; but now I could only remember
that I had forgotten the damned poems, and this seemed to me the
ultimate, the only real betrayal.
Judith came to take my order, shy somehow and very grave. Though
I said nothing about the poems, she understood, bringing the manuscript
back with the coffee and tossing it down before me reproachfully.
"Hank never saw it. I slipped it under my skirt. Why did you ever
leave it behind?"
"It was an accident." I could not even believe myself.
"An accident!" She pretended to be mopping a stubborn spot on
the table. "Do you want to ruin everything! Just when we've started
to build up his confidence-"
"His confidence," I could not help protesting, though I knew I
