breakfast was served. He loved doing this; indeed it was (and has remained) for him the highest imaginable act of sacred camp––a little genuine devotion, a feeling of the absurdity of himself in this role, a sense that the performance is a joke shared with Swamiji, and of course his enjoyment of the sound of his own voice––all these elements are combined in the experience. But, quite aside from this, the breakfast puja had a beautiful domestic significance as long as Sister[†] was alive and could personally pour Swamiji’s coffee during the ritual. Because Sister was (almost certainly) the only surviving person who had actually served breakfast to Swamiji while he was in the U.S. He had been a guest in her home, at the beginning of the century.
On January 8, the day-to-day diary records that Sudhira[‡] enlisted in the navy. She may actually have done this, or it may have been one of the tall stories she told Christopher. If she did really enlist, I’m pretty sure she was never called up.
Also on the 8th, a journalist named Felton visited the center; he was doing a story for Time magazine in connection with a
forthcoming review of the Prabhavananda–Isherwood translation of the Gita. On the 11th, he came again and sat in on Swami’s evening class; and on the 15th he sent a photographer to take pictures of Swami, Christopher, the temple, etc.[§]
Day-to-day diary, January 19: “To Santa Monica. Saw Bill and
Denny. The kite accident.”
When Christopher arrived at Santa Monica that morning, he
found Denny Fouts making a tail for a kite out of his Christmas decorations. (This sort of play project, undertaken on the spur of the moment, was characteristic of Denny.) When the kite was ready, Bill Harris and Christopher took it out on the beach to fly it. (I don’t remember that Denny was with them––perhaps there were two kites and Denny was flying the other one.) The wind was strong but not
[* I.e., Vivekananda’s; see Glossary.]
[† An American disciple of Vivekananda; see Glossary.]
[‡ A disciple of Prabhavananda; see Glossary.]
[§ The article by staff correspondent James Felton appeared on February 12, 1945; see p. 22 and n. below.]
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Lost Years
steady. Bill and Christopher got the kite aloft, quite high over the Canyon. Then Christopher said, “We ought to tie a banner to the tail, with ‘Vernon is a big queen’ written on it!” (The point of this remark was that Vernon happened to be staying somewhere in the Canyon at that time so he would perhaps have seen the banner and been embarrassed. Christopher was being bitchy about Vernon
because he still harbored a grudge against him for the failure of their life together up at Santa Barbara. In any case, jokes against Vernon were frequent in Denny’s circle.)
Christopher had barely finished making this joke when the kite, as if to punish him for it, took a sudden dive––so sudden that he and Bill Harris had no time to save it by running toward the ocean, pulling the string. In less time than it takes to tell, the kite fell limply onto the power lines along the side of the highway. Then, as
Christopher watched incredulously, the tail of the kite began to smoke, there was a flash, a dull puff of sound, like air being expelled, and two of the cables parted and fell across the road. (No doubt they were spitting sparks, but Christopher couldn’t see this from where he stood.) Cars which happened to be passing swerved wildly. Brakes squealed. Luckily, there were no collisions. The accident, though minor, was awe inspiring. It belonged in the category of disasters and was as disconcerting to watch, on its own tiny scale, as the air raids Christopher had seen in China. You felt that the order of things was being upset. (And indeed, as Christopher heard later, the electric power was cut off throughout the neighborhood.)
Bill Harris was so horrified that he simply ran away, fearing arrest.
Christopher didn’t resent this; it rather flattered his own vanity that he was left to play the man while Bill panicked like a girl. And he knew Bill would admire him for his behavior, later. Christopher was a bit scared, of course; he fully expected to be arrested. But he was also shrewd enough to know that nothing very bad would happen to him, provided that he admitted his responsibility without delay.
Meanwhile, a crowd had gathered and the police had arrived. But the police merely took charge of the traffic; they didn’t attempt to find out who the culprit was. Christopher joined the crowd. Several people in it had undoubtedly seen him flying the kite. Christopher made up his mind to keep quiet for the time being and wait until questions were asked. But nobody asked any questions.
Then the repair truck arrived. The repair men asked no questions, either. But one of them said: “Whoever was flying that kite, he sure as hell was lucky”––and went on to explain that, if the kite string had been wet, the person holding it would have been electrocuted. The short circuit had been caused by the tinsel ornaments in the kite tail.
¾ 1945 ¾
11
Christopher later used this incident in The World in the Evening.1
Day-to-day diary, January 20: “Supper with Carter (Lodge), Don Forbes, Dave Eberhardt[*] and Chip.[†]” I think Chip was a boyfriend of Carter Lodge. He may well be the boy about whom I dimly
remember the following story: When the boy was young, his parents were alarmed because he was so effeminate and they felt sure he would turn out to be homosexual when he grew up; he also had a wretched physique. They consulted a doctor, who advised some sort of hormone treatment. The treatment produced dramatic results; the boy became a virile youth without a trace of effeminacy, with a powerful well-made body and masculine good looks––a well-adjusted, one hundred percent homosexual.
Don Forbes was a newscaster on radio; I think his program was sponsored by Richfield Oil. He was quite a star in the news
world––maybe he had done some reporting from the battlefronts. I remember being amused by a photograph of him, enshrined like an oracle amidst flags, bursting shells, whizzing planes and bombarding warships. He was handsome, temperamental and very much of an
actor.
Dave Eberhardt was [. . .] just discharged from the navy––a pale husky joli laid with a crew cut. Soon after Dave and Christopher met, Dave told Christopher that he found him “powerfully attractive.”
Christopher reciprocated more than sufficiently, and they would neck whenever they were alone together, sometimes for long spells.
Since they always had to do this at the apartment which Don and Dave shared––because Christopher was still living at the Vedanta Center––they never went to bed together, however; Dave thought it was too risky. When they did finally make love, years later, at the AJC Ranch, I seem to remember that it wasn’t a success.
Dave Eberhardt was a photographer. He later took some
exceedingly flattering photographs of Christopher.
Day-to-day diary, January 21: “With Bill to Beesleys’. Saw
Barrymore house.” January 21 was a Sunday. Sunday lunch with the Beesleys had become a more or less fixed engagement. John van Druten and Carter sometimes came––though Carter was secretly
unwelcome because he was allergic to dogs, so the dalmatians had to be shut away somewhere during his visit. (Dodie, of course, disbelieved in his allergy––like many Britishers of her generation, she dismissed allergies as an American superstition, with the single 1 See chapter six, part two.
[* Not his real name.]
[† Not his real name.]
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Lost Years
exception of hay fever. In her opinion, Carter simply hated dogs, which was a permanent bad mark against him.)
The Beesleys were then living in a magnificent house on a hill above Tower Road––much too big for them. It had lawns, a garden, a tennis court and a pool. I think it rented for four hundred dollars a month, which seemed huge, in those days.