JOHN SHEA
207
why did he continue to torment himself and pour his soul into
words? He wanted very much to come to America to see her, but
money was short. Life was so unfair, especially to young lovers .
Reading, he paused momentarily and looked up from the letter. She
was curled on the sofa, her face turned away but still apparently lis–
tening intently. She had left her tea unfinished . One shoe was barely
visible under the sofa, on its side. "This is getting interesting," he
thought, scanning the rest of the letter. "Perhaps I was right about
this guy." What followed was a delicate suggestion that she help him
"to fulfill his dream to come to America," that is, scrape up fare for
the plane ride. Love, it seemed, had to move over and share the
stage with Money. How much had she spent during those three
weeks of dining and traveling and barhopping? He wanted to know
but there was no tactful way to ask her. Did she at least sense the
desperation, the change of tone, of the letter?
The second and more recent was briefer and it seemed to him
even more suspect. But how could he interfere, how could he judge,
especially given his own far-from-disinterested position? The sub–
merged plea for money was there again; this time even a figure was
named, not very large in itself but perhaps only a test of some sort.
As he read the passage aloud he felt an almost physical distaste and
hoped that the heat on his face was not turning to a blush. These
were words he was glad to hear coming from his rival, but there was
little pleasure in voicing them. How would she respond? When the
letter was over he kept his eyes on the floor.
"Is that everything?" she asked after a short pause. Her voice
seemed husky, charged with emotion.
He took a quick look at her, trying to gauge her feelings. The
letter had ended so abruptly, with little attempt to recreate the
earlier atmosphere of impassioned longing. Instead it was almost
matter-of-fact. The longer he hesitated the more uncomfortable the
silence became. What if she began to cry?
"No, wait-I must have missed this little bit here." He did not
look at her. His voice was neutral. "I don't see how I can live without
you, without seeing you every day. Only you can make my life seem
worthwhile. "
At this she glanced at him, her eyes half questioning. He felt his
throat growing dry. "Well, I've got to get back to the books, Marie.
Thanks for the tea. " Folding the letter with excessive deliberation, he
rose and picked up his notebook. Out of the corner of his eye he
could see her still looking at him. All at once he knew he had to get
