at me with a melting expression, try to slide his hand up my leg. Finally I brushed him off. ‘I'm going,’ I said. With this his manner changed. He looked grieved. ‘Why go all the way to Brooklyn?’ he said. ‘You can stay the night here just as well. You don't have to sleep with me, if that's what bothers you. There's a cot in the other room.’ He went to the dresser and pulled out a pair of pajamas for me.
I didn't know what to think, whether he was playing it straight or ... I hesitated. ‘At the worst,’ I said to myself, ‘it will be a sleepless night.'
'You don't have to get to Paris to-morrow, do you?’ he said. ‘I wouldn't lose heart so quickly, if I were you.’ A double-edged remark, which I ignored. ‘Where's the cot?’ I said. ‘We'll talk about that some other time.'
I turned in, keeping one eye open in case he should try his funny business. But he didn't. Obviously he was disgusted with me—or perhaps he thought a bit of patience would turn the trick. Anyway, I didn't sleep a wink. I tossed about till dawn, then got up, very quietly, and dressed. As I was slipping into my trousers I spied a copy of Ulysses. I grabbed it and taking a seat by the front window, I read Molly Bloom's soliloquy. I was almost tempted to walk off with the copy. Instead, a better idea occurred to me. I tiptoed to the hallway, where the clothes closet was, opened it gently and went through his pockets, wallet and all. All I could find was about seven dollars and some change. I took it and scrammed ... And you never saw him again? No, I never went back to the restaurant. Supposing, Val, that he offered you the passage money, if...
It's hard to answer that. I've often thought about it since I know I could never go through with it, not even for you. It's easier to be a woman, in such circumstances.
She began to laugh. She laughed and laughed.
What's so funny? I said.
You! she cried. Just like a man!
How so? Would you rather I had given in?
I'm not saying, Val. All I say is that you reacted in typical male fashion.
Suddenly I thought of Stasia and her wild exhibitions. You never told me, I said, what happened to Stasia. Was it because of her that you missed the boat?
What ever put that thought in to your head? I told you how I happened to miss the boat, don't you remember?
That's right, you did. But I wasn't listening very well. Anyway, it's strange you've had no word from her all this time. Where do you suppose she is?
In Africa, probably.
Africa?
Yes, the last I heard from her she was in Algiers.
Hmmmnn.
Yes, Val, to get back to you I had to promise Roland, the man who took me to Vienna, that I would sail with him. I agreed on condition that he would wire Stasia the money to leave Africa. He didn't do it. I only discovered that he hadn't at the last moment. I didn't have the money then to cable you about the delay. Anyway, I didn't sail with Roland. I sent him back to Paris. I made him swear that he would find Stasia and bring her home safely. That's the story.
He didn't do it, of course?
No, he's a weak, spoiled creature, concerned only with himself.. He had deserted Stasia and her Austrian friend in the desert, when the going got too rough. He left them without a penny. I could have murdered him when I found it out...
So that's all you know?
Yes. For all I know, she may be dead by now.
I got up to look for a cigarette. I found the pack on the open book I had been reading earlier in the day. Listen to this, I said, reading the passage I had marked: The purpose of literature is to help man to know himself, to fortify his belief in himself and support his striving after truth...
Lie down, she begged. I want to hear you talk, not read.
Hurrah for the Karamazovs!
Stop it, Val! Let's talk some more, please.
All right, then. What about Vienna? Did you visit your uncle while there? You've hardly told me a thing about Vienna, do you realize that? I know it's a touchy subject ... Roland and all that. Still...
She explained that they hadn't spent much time in Vienna. Besides, she wouldn't dream of visiting her relatives without giving them money. Roland wasn't the sort to dole out money to poor relatives. She did, however, make him spend money freely whenever they ran into a needy artist.
Good! I said. And did you ever run into any of the celebrities in the world of art? Picasso, for instance, or Matisse?
The first person I got to know, she replied, was Zadkine, the sculptor.
No, really? I said.
And then there was Edgar Varese.
Who's he?
A composer. A wonderful person, Val. You'd adore him.
Any one else?
Marcel Duchamp. You know who he is, of course?
