214
PARTISAN REVIEW
on space. Her lemons, her apples, and pitchers, and plates, her
planes and moving space and push and pull could not arouse in Sheila
any of the enthusiasm that the older girl felt for her own sketches
of Rilke struggling with the angels, or Madame Blavatsky and Kahlil
Gibran meeting in the unseen world.
They were always at an impasse now, these two former friends.
Sheila asked about the lion in the old intimate way, or talked about
Buddhism as revealed by Simeon and disputed by Melvin. Gretchen
would become cold with embarrassment and then would act too
friendly. So it was just as well when they stopped seeing each other
altogether. There was absolutely nothing to talk about.
Near Columbia there are many pleasant streets and large nice–
looking houses. There are also many unpleasant ones. About a year
after the events narrated, Gretchen Weiss walked up from the Drive
one warm bright afternoon and came to 114th Street. She crossed
Broadway and then stopped further on in front of a tenement house
which bore the number Sheila had given her.
For, Sheila had called one day, suddenly, after a year, had tele–
phoned at Gretchen's parents' one day when Gretchen was there.
It really was a surprise.
"Sheila! How strange to hear your voice after all this time!"
"And yours, Gretchen! I-have you moved? I wrote to you–
and got no answer. And I was just thinking about you so I thought
I'd ask your mother-and how are you, myoId friend?"
"Oh, fine," Gretchen replied. "I haven't moved, I'm just visiting
my mother. She isn't well."
"Oh," said the old Sheila. "I'm
so
sorry to hear that.-I've been
well--of course, so much has happened-"
"Mmm," said Gretchen uncertainly. She didn't know how much
she wanted to hear. "Are you still on 89th Street?"
"Oh, no," Sheila answered. "I'm pregnant, you see. I'm going
to have a baby. Of course, I forgot. You didn't know I was married.
It was in January-we decided very suddenly- Of course, you don't
know whom I married, but I'm sure you can guess." And when
Gretchen professed her inability to guess, Sheila informed her that it
was, of course, Melvin (of course?) , who was getting his M.A. at
Columbia. They were living on 114th Street, and Sheila wanted to
