Mortals

Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the ebb meets the moon-blanch’d sand,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves suck back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.”

He paused. He was shaky on the next segments. He plunged through them anyway, raising his voice even higher. There had been errors. He didn’t care.

This last part he knew cold. He would make it as close to song as he could. He had tears in his eyes, he was interested to note. He wondered if this poem had ever been set to music. Take this, he thought.

“Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! For the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.”

That was it. That was it. That was her favorite poem and what had she done and what had he, the man at stool, to use a good English Literature archaism, done, and what was that man thinking right now, this minute? Ray thanked English Literature for what, for being or giving him a weapon.

Now, stupidly, he wanted something from Morel.

He said, “That was her favorite poem.”

Morel said something indeterminate.

“Still is, I assume,” Ray said.

There was an outburst, Morel saying, “Oh shut the fuck up. You’re an idiot. Would you consider shutting up?”

Ray knew why it was happening. “Dover Beach” was about fidelity. So reciting it had been a form of rubbing it in. Still, it was what had come to him and in fact it was her favorite poem.

“Sorry. I was trying to be helpful.”

“You never shut up, is the problem. You’re an idiot.”

This would pass. Morel was forgetting who was the injured party and who wasn’t.

Ray waited while Morel finished up and reorganized himself.

“I only used half the paper,” Morel said, pushing the unused paper into its previous crack in the wall.

“Thanks.”

“You’re not an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“I am an idiot. I beg to differ.”

“And by the way, My Bowels shall sound as an Harp isn’t Coleridge.”

“Yes it is. It’s in the Notebooks.”

“It may be, but it comes from the Bible. Isaiah. That’s where he got it.”

It was a small thing, but Ray hated it anyway. He felt shown-up at the professional level. He was an idiot.

“I won’t argue with you.”

“I’m right, believe me.”

Sounds of glass breaking came from the direction of the main building. It was possible it meant nothing. There was no sequel.

Morel placed himself against the wall, leaning on it a little, his arms crossed on his chest. Ray sat against the opposite wall, on his pallet. He wanted to be in a standing position for what was coming, but the prospect of finally getting the truth had made his knees weak, as in the cliche. He would get up when he could.

“I’m sorry about that,” Morel said, gesturing toward the bucket. There was no need. It was the way it was.

Morel said, “One way we could go with this would be for you to tell me just how you know about Iris and me. You say you already know. That would save a lot of time. And I’d be interested.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“I see. And why would that be? Because it would reveal, what do you call it, ‘sources and methods’?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Because I was lying. I knew you’d think I had tapes or videos. That’s why I said it. I sort of regret it. But when I said I knew, it wasn’t that. It was signs and indicators I kept trying to put together to mean anything else and they didn’t, I couldn’t. It was partly a literary exercise, in a way. The only story that made sense was the painful one. I don’t know what to say to you. I had a premonition about this and she agreed to an insane compact with me. She was going to tell me if she was going to cheat, or if she was tempted, warn me so I could do what, something. But the horse was halfway out of the barn by then and when she agreed to it she was already halfway into being in bed with you, dreaming in that direction anyway. But she thought she was in good faith, I don’t doubt it for a minute. She was in the rapids and she didn’t know it.”

He had to stop. His eyes were filling with tears. It was unusual. It was philosophical. It was a generic sorrow for human beings caught in situations like theirs, the three of them, humans making declarations they meant at the time and that got undone and swept away by perverse events, the perversity of the future as it arrived so clumsily, giantly, smashing things. That was what it was. Except for the part that was about self-pity, that was what it was.

He said, “Say something.”

“I can’t.” Morel was barely audible.

Ray said, “Look at it from my standpoint. I know the truth. You know I know. Do me the favor of letting me live in the world I have to face, once we get back, assuming we do. I am going to have to deal with this in detail. I need help to prepare. Because there is going to be an ending, a… what… an uprooting worse than anything I ever dreamed could happen to me. Arm me for that. Or if I die let me die in possession of the truth, in reality, as I go. Not to be too dramatic about it, but you see my point.

“And look, if you think I’m going to try to torture every minute particular out of you, don’t think it. All I need from you is confirmation that I’m in my right mind, so I can proceed. We all need to be in our right minds, am I correct? That’s your motto. People are drowning in false narratives, thus empire thus the papacy thus this and that, world wars, evil empires good empires, all the shit of history.

“Because I’ll tell you, the details are unimportant in comparison to the general fact of the thing and what that means. The details can’t make it worse.

“And also I’ll tell you this, I know the situation you’re in. I know what she told you. Don’t tell him, in the name of God, don’t. I can hear her. She said that whatever you do don’t tell him, it will kill him. I know what she said. She said she had to be the one to handle it, it was her right to handle it. She was fierce. I know her. I know how she would put it.