“He’s not here,” I said. “Go away.”
She mouthed something unintelligible. The room sang:
I wet a washcloth and swiped at the mirror with it. She winced. Turn out the light, said my finer instincts, and so I turned out the light. She remained lit up. Dismissing the whole thing as the world’s aberration and not mine, I went back to bed.
“Janet?” she said.
IX
Janet picked up Jeannine at the Chinese New Festival. Miss Dadier never allowed anyone to pick her up but a woman was different, after all; it wasn’t the same thing. Janet was wearing a tan raincoat. Cal had gone round the corner to get steamed buns in a Chinese luncheonette and Miss Evason asked the meaning of a banner that was being carried through the street.
“Happy Perseverance, Madam Chiang,” said Jeannine.
Then they chatted about the weather.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” said Jeannine suddenly. (She put her hands over her ears and made a face.) “But that’s different,” she said.
Janet Evason made another suggestion. Jeannine looked interested and willing to understand, though a little baffled.
“Cal’s in there,” said Jeannine loftily. “I couldn’t go in
“Are you French?”
“Ah!” said Miss Evason, nodding.
“I’ve never been to France,” said Jeannine languidly; “I often thought I’d—well, I just haven’t been.”
It—would—make—her—
“Who did your hair?” she asked Miss Evason, and when Miss Evason didn’t understand:
“Who streaked your hair so beautifully?”
“Time,” and Miss Evason laughed and Miss Dadier laughed. Miss Dadier laughed beautifully, gloriously, throwing her head back; everyone admired the curve of Miss Dadier’s throat. Eyes turned.
Crazy Jeannine nodded, petrified.
“Good,” said Janet Evason. “We’ll get you a leave from work.” She whistled and around the corner at a dead run came two plainclothes policemen in tan raincoats: enormous, jowly, thick-necked, determined men who will continue running—at a dead heat—through the rest of this tale. But we won’t notice them. Jeannine looked in astonishment from their raincoats to Miss Evason’s raincoat. She did not approve
“So that’s why it doesn’t fit,” she said. Janet pointed to Jeannine for the benefit of the cops.
“Boys, I’ve got one.”
The Chinese New Festival was invented to celebrate the recapture of Hong Kong from the Japanese. Chiang Kai-shek died of heart disease in 1951 and Madam Chiang is premieress of the New China. Japan, which controls the mainland, remains fairly quiet since it lacks the backing of—for example—a reawakened Germany, and if any war occurs, it will be between the Divine Japanese Imperiality and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (there are twelve). Americans don’t worry much. Germany still squabbles occasionally with Italy or England; France (disgraced in the abortive
The Depression is still world-wide.
(But think—only think!—what might have happened
XI
(Cal, who came out of the Chinese luncheonette just in time to see his girl go off with three other people, did not throw the lunch buns to the ground in a fit of exasperated rage and stamp on them. Some haunted Polish ancestor looked out of his eyes. He was so thin and slight that his ambitions shone through him: I’ll make it some day, baby. I’ll be the greatest. He sat down on a fire plug and began to eat the buns.
PART THREE
I
This is the lecture. If you don’t like it, you can skip to the next chapter. Before Janet arrived on this planet
I was moody, ill-at-ease, unhappy, and hard to be with. I didn’t relish my breakfast. I spent my whole day combing my hair and putting on make-up. Other girls practiced with the shot-put and compared archery scores, but I—indifferent to javelin and crossbow, positively repelled by horticulture and ice hockey—all I did was
dress for The Man
smile for The Man
talk wittily to The Man
