Herself (30 page)

When she has arranged us, J. comes and sits right behind my right shoulder-blade and places baby in carriage beside her.

I began to feel like Gulliver, as the Lilliputians wove their strings. Use of baby interested me—since everyone has an amah here, J. was not in position of Amer. wife who has to have baby with her—felt again that she was “posing” as charming mother-and-child. Baby very blond and blue-eyed with knitted brows—looks like R. even more than like J.—not a trace of Curt that I cd see. If one cd determine paternity for sure by looks, then one cd say almost unequivocally that baby is not C.’s. I put on glasses for sure. No, it was as I had always thought—she must have good reason to know that child is R.’s, and indeed had never averred otherwise. So that at least I can tell him.

Then R. chilled my blood by saying that since students were Journalism, he had had idea that they cd interview me—like a real interview, me, my life, my writing, etc. I had the presence to say “Oh, let’s keep it to me as a writer.”

Young man on my very near left said—beginning valiantly “Is Miss Calisher your pen name?” I said, Oh no, it was my real name—that writers had about given up 19th-century practice of
nom-de-plume.
Cd see questions about home and husbands looming, but managed to turn question on to writing, and there we stayed.

Interpreter-guy had done a thesis in States on Confucius—so luckily questions became very metaphysical. R. said almost nothing. Cecil helped valiantly too. R. is strange, indecisive manner, but observant, one
must
think, underneath. J. had drinks and cakes brought, then moved herself and baby facing me, and scrutinized me. Later the conversation took a turn as to whether writers shd stay in Universities and get Ph.D.s—with a great swoosh I launched into C.-and-my favorite diatribes on this. Said it produced writers who ended up writing about writers who were writing novels in universities—like a succession of mirrors reflecting one another—everybody laughed. And here J. made her only contribution; saying indignantly “But what about support. How are they going to support themselves!” My inner comment—she meant, “How are they going to support ME!”

Answered J. by saying that the problem, of support, had to be solved individually—I had taught for a year for economic reasons—idea was not to go on doing it regularly, or rather not to fool yourself that could be a prof. and a writer too. Question of Perm Warren and A. Tate brought up. Said that they had professorial position
because
of being writers—and that they didn’t rate with the real ones anyway—Warren vs. Hemingway and Faulkner for instance. Mentioned Trilling’s “Of This Time” as the only real story by a prof.

J. continued to scrutinize me. Am pretty sure now that some news of C. and me had trickled over here. I finally ended converse on this topic by saying that writer’s lives had problems, just like anybody’s—personally I wd feel it better for a writer to dig ditches to support his family rather than study for Ph.D.—of course there was a hazard here too—a tractor might fall on him. Cd see J’s attitude, so often indicated by C—she feels that one ought to be able to “square away” every “problem” by pre-intellectual consideration of the “pamphlet” covering same. I know, as C. knows, that life is too slippery and evasive for this; pursues its own tragicomical path, and can never be “squared away” in this fashion. As my father used to quote—“a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.”

Anyway, Cecil finally brought rather fruitless discourse to end—we rose to go. J. got him off in corner, seemed not to want to let him go. (Mary had told me that she had remembered why she avoided J.—evening they first met, M. & C had rose to go, having a pressing engagement at embassy and having clearly said so, but J. continued to talk to C. and keep on stringing things out; they cd not get away, were late and annoyed.) Meanwhile R. talked to me—asked me where next stop was—I said Teheran, and that I was looking forward to cool weather. Was I going home then? Etc.

So at last I took the plunge, and said no, I was going to stay in Iran six months or so—and I suddenly had a feeling he knew about C. and was waiting. So I said I had been meaning to tell his wife, C. and I were married you know, and were going to be there.

R. said “Oh, I thought C. was going to be in Tabriz. Teheran is dry and dusty isn’t it? But we have been looking up Tabriz on the map—it seems higher.”

Replied that it was in mountains 4,000 feet up—I looked forward to, as like cold weather, etc. Asked if R. had ever been to Iran—he said no, asked if C. had found a house?

I said yes—we were going to write there, as C. reported teaching wd not be too arduous for him—C. had finished his book.

R. asked if he had submitted—I said he had left with agent before departing. R. at no time evinced any surprise when I told him abt C.—since I do not know him cd not tell whether this was his regular, noncommittal manner or not—but hardly think so. To be that controlled, when a woman tells you she is so connected with your former friend, your wife’s former husband, and in view of parlous history shared by all—is hardly credible. Felt that Triems or Springers or somebody must have hinted, and that it was indeed a good thing I had calmly stated what I had—whether or not they believe. (Getting ahead of my reportage.) I mentioned that C. and I were exchanging journals—in order not to have too big a backlog, mails being bad on a tour like this.

He said—“Yes, we have not heard for over two months.”

I said, “You mean, from Stateside, family etc?”

He said, “No, I mean from Curt,” and again said they’d been looking up Tabriz.

I did not have heart to tell him that C. had asked J. not to write, but she had. It is apparent that C.’s letter to J., terminating correspondence, never was seen by R. I remembered how annoyed J. was before, when C. wrote his letter to R. saying he was really through. She wants all to be under her control, to manipulate as necessary. Ordinarily I wd feel that I was being paranoiac about this—how can one suspect that baby-face air of normal American wife, of such undercurrents? But there it is—as it comes out, piece by piece.

So we were off, the group again at the door. J. took baby from amah and followed us to car with it—leaned in and asked me, of all things, was I well provided with mosquito lotion. I said yes, Sanfords had long since indoctrinated me, etc. At last she let Cecil, already in car with me, drive on.

Mystified. Was she still posing, mother with child? So that in case I was with C, I cd report on pretty picture or observe for myself? Was the picture “You may be going round the world and be Miss Calisher, but I am the real woman, with child, home, husband, etc.?” She cd hardly be concerned about my mosquito-troubles at this point—on the terrace wd have been the time. Or is she simply a woman who can never separate the wood from the trees, details mixing inextricably with important things? Dunno. Final conclusion—if had met her under totally casual circumstances—we would never have struck any sympathies. She would have been slightly jealous, as she is of women, particularly those who are not her inferior in taste, equipment, or achievement, but she wd have tried to cling slightly nevertheless because it is important to her to believe that she belongs with a “preferred” group—whether celebrities, minor and for the moment, like me, or big-shot-on-campus, as R. may once have seemed to her, etc. And I? I am afraid I wd have found her attitudes rather dull and passed on anyway, since her warmth is rather patently one of manner, not, as with Mary S. for instance—both—of manner, and from the inside. And this, which I have written at such length so that C. may read and we may both proceed to more fruitful mullings—is the END OF CONJECTURING.

Indeed. That’s what I thought. Almost precisely when I had put down this last and decided to go for swim, phone rang—R. calling, had I had breakfast (11
A.M.
)
and cd I have coffee? Met him in lobby, went to small bakery tea-shop in hotel arcade. (Immediately greeted in passing by Mrs. Unger, wife of Deputy Ambassador, whom I am to dine with on Monday.) R. very nice, said there had been a lot of marrying—wanted me to tell Curt that “his wife” (E.) had just got married to the lawyer in Philadelphia. Said when one’s former spouse married there was always a “feeling”—went on about this in a tentative way—point he was making was that J. was doing a TV program tomorrow—he hadn’t told her my information as “didn’t want to disturb her.” Also didn’t want me to feel strange, being in a foreign country, in this situation.

Said I didn’t feel strange. We had a long talk. I said that I had seized opportunity to tell him since thought it wd be better to have him break to J.—he agreed. He wanted to know where we had married—I lied and said N.Y. Discussed Mex. divorces—said my lawyer had told me cd be disbarred for absentee ones—I had gone for mine—but did not indicate when. Did not feel need to be devious with R.—he is a nice person. But he is not his own person. So I kept to simple story.

R. suggested possibly that when he had told J. we cd all have dinner together on Sun. I declined—he pressed me to say why. I said I thought his wife tended to want to involve people in her personal dramas—I simply didn’t wish to be involved. He said there wdn’t be any drama—this of course contra to fact—otherwise why is he afraid to tell her, afraid she wdnt be able to go on TV if knew etc?

I said—of course, “I don’t mean she’ll throw a plate at me, or I at her”—but we wd either Not talk about or Talk about—and I didn’t wish to, either way. He said he was sure she hadn’t an inkling about C. & me, persisted in wanting me to be “frank” about why I thought she wd still be concerned—so I said I had been rather embarrassed to tell him, that the reason he had not heard from C. was that C. had written earlier asking her not to correspond. He smiled and said his wife was a “great little letter-writer”—I said “yes” but this had been a direct request by C. And two letters since.

He wanted me to be “frank” about letters further—but I simply said she had said her parents were worried sick abt C., rest of letter long one abt herself. But farther I wd not go.

Cd not possibly tell the man that J. had written C. about her dissatisfactions, about “moving on.” Have distinct feeling that J. in my spot, wd not have been so protective of me—viz what she did to R.’s wife—but nevertheless cd not. Poor guy.

I did ask what he thought wd be gained by our sitting down together all cozy-like. He flushed and said that when one felt guilty about having injured a person, one wanted to repair. How mixed up he is, or how mixed she has made him; How cd our being cozy smooth over things, if C. was still hurt? I think she has made a great thing of how hurt C. still is—apparently she thinks he has rushed off to Persia to lick his wounds, and probably keeps this picture well in R.’s mind.
Merde
!

So I repaired this picture at once. Said he need not feel guilty; that I didn’t think C. had any great resentments toward him now—or brooded abt J. to any great degree. Drew a deep breath and said that C. had said that the only thing he cdn’t forgive her for was playing one man against another as she had. R. nodded. I said we were in love, that we were not jealous of each other’s work but tried to foster it—that this was the delight of my life, as with C. That we had been “attracted” first (I didn’t want him to think we just held hands) but had found out how well we did together—told how we had worked in cottage. Said that in mismatings everything fretted one—but that when one had basic aims the same, these frettings tended to disappear—that C. and I did not mind when left by each other to write—it was a mutual “desertion”—we met in evening and exchanged—worked well when we were with each other. Etc. He said he was glad to hear that C was happy—that he should be with “such a glamorous and charming person” as me. I tried not to simper. Told him more about C.’s novel, what Snow had said of his work, what I thought. Said he was a real writer, that oftentimes the sacrifices a writer wd make for his work seemed hard-minded to outsiders—but that C. and I did not have this to come between us. He asked what C. wd do next—I mentioned California, but said we didn’t know. R. thinks he will go back to teaching. Likes it and magazine world too hectic.

And that was about all—we had talked a bit about divorces, agreeing that Mexican ones wd “hold up” pretty well—he said that his lawyer had told him that in any case they cd not be requestioned or fought by people involved. In other words, C. cd not protest J.’s and vice versa.

Wonder if he had idea, kept warm by J., that C. might protest? I don’t know. This is the mélange one gets into anywhere in her aura. It is obvious that he has to move on eggshells with her. Not me. So I thanked him firmly for coffee, for talk, but made it quite clear that as sensible people wd be best to drop whole matter, live our own lives.

He did persist a bit, saying he hoped I wd get to see more than embassy people, who tended to circumscribe one. (Probably she has already begun to propagandize on stuffy embassy, as she did on “stuffy” Grinnell faculty—the technique of disabusement) I said yes, but Sanfords were perceptive people—a delight in fact, that I was meeting lot of Thais, dining with Prem, Prince Suphat taking me to Temple and to Palace, etc, going up-river tomorrow. He was nice all the way thru—but I think for some God-damn reason, I can’t tell why, thought that things wd be better if I would come to see them, make everything all right, etc. Too nice to press. But I was not going to fall for “let’s all be civilized” lesson from Pamphlet 3 of Liberal American Attitudes. Look at all the time, breath, ribbon, ink I’ve wasted already!

And more. Forgot to say that R. said he thought C. “would have written” to J. about us. I said since C.’s wish was to drop correspondence, there was no point in his taking up pen to so inform. C. assumed she wd eventually hear, as people do. Tried to make it clear to him that we had our own concerns, not violently concerned with “What will
Jane
think!” As of course, he is.

FINIS—GOING FOR A SWIM, dammit.

The dates get near, am now preyed on by usual fear that plane will fall down, on final lap of this endless journey. BOAC has a ground strike, so must change original plan to fly Cathay Pacific to Rangoon and BOAC there. Going to embassy this morning to check.