“Oh, I took precautions and wore my lowest-heeled shoes.”
“That was wise.”
A few steps farther without speaking. Headlights of a car approaching the entrance of the pier, headlights that came to a stop, preempted the yellow light on cobblestones with twin beams. Car doors opened on voices quick to laughter. Edith continued, “I don’t like to say this, but the thing that I didn’t realize was the extent to which Marcia has molded your character. Changed it — I think for the—” She hesitated. “Weakened it.”
“I don’t believe so.”
“I think that’s where you’re mistaken. The person you were, the person I had the feeling you were when you took me to see your parents, was originally quite different. I’m sure he would have made an entirely different decision from the one you’re making.”
“That’s where you’re mistaken, Edith. I haven’t made it.”
Edith seemed not to hear. “It’s as though you’re trying to find someone who will help reassemble you, now that you’ve lost Marcia.”
“Oh, Edith.” Lewlyn tried to soften his reply with a touch of humor. “If there’s anything in my decision, I mean any single factor that will determine my decision, it’s whether — really, listen, Edith — whether I’ll be able to sustain your very negative view of life.”
“I hear Marcia again.”
“Simply because Marcia and I happen to agree doesn’t mean it’s her view, or her view imposed on me. I came to that consideration on my own — be careful, dear!”
“I’m holding her on the other side,” Ira assured.
“That’s good. Thanks. . Edith, I admit, Marcia said when I mentioned my concern, she said: ‘I was wondering when you’d perceive that.’” He seemed to wait for Edith’s reply, and when she made none, he went on, “I’m speaking for myself, as an individual, trying to assess as objectively as I can a very difficult situation. You must believe me. And please, Edith, don’t decide things in advance. It will just interfere with objectivity, with judgment. There are three lives at stake here, three futures: yours, Cecilia’s, and mine.”
“And all three futures are being decided by Marcia.”
“I don’t think that’s fair, Edith.”
“Really? It may be unpleasant, but it happens to be true.”
“I don’t think so. I’m sorry.”
“Well. . what matter?” Edith moved her head in the increasing light, from side to side, in a swaying motion weary in its resignation. The headlights in front were turned off: car doors slammed, figures entered the pier bearing luggage. “The regrettable thing is that the very negativism you talk about, my so-called negativism, is only strengthened by your own behavior — at Marcia’s behest. I can feel changes taking place in myself as a result of all this.”
“Like what, my dear?”
“Unfortunate changes. For one thing, I wonder whether any man is worth trusting.”
“But I’ve been honest. I’ve been honest all the way, Edith.”
“You’ve been honest in your way.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You can’t be honest. Not until you’ve been reassembled.”
“Oh, heavens! Please, Edith, you keep harping on that. Reassembled out of what?”
“Out of the priest who’s come apart, the very one Marcia created in the first place.”
“You don’t think I would have arrived at the conclusions I did in any event? Even if she had come back, and continued to be my wife? Even if she had not fallen in love with Robert? Not decided on divorce? I would still have begun to be skeptical of the efficacy of prayer, of religion in general.”
“Perhaps. That remains moot, as they say.”
“Edith, won’t you at least wait till I return?”
“I fear I’ll have to.”
“And suspend judgment meanwhile?” he coaxed. “You owe me that much.”
She laughed for the first time — briefly. “Do I?”
Cobblestones gave way to level plank. The three had come to the entrance of the pier, like that of a huge shed. Lewlyn seemed completely oblivious of his valise. He still had not changed hands. God, the man was strong — or completely occupied. The strings of electric lights overhead strove wanly with the expanse gloom of the interior — till the cluster of lights at the gangway: there, all was brightness, brightness shining on passengers and well-wishers entering the circle of radiance. Voices. Merriment of new arrivals.
Lewlyn displayed his boarding pass to the uniformed guard. The trio were smilingly waved on. Hanging on to the rail, they climbed the cleated gangway from dock to ship — passing above a lane of murky water to the brightly lit deck. The vessel seemed small for an ocean liner; or was it foreshortened by its illuminated areas? Few passengers were visible, but already the pitch of gaiety peculiar to departure was beginning to come from different directions, as more newcomers boarded the ship. In the group nearest them, a woman in a fur stole smoked a cigarette in a silver cigarette holder, like those of an actress on a stage her eyes glittered in the floodlights. A white-jacketed steward appeared, fizzling club soda on his tray, the White Rock nymph on the bottle clearly visible, recognized from Park & Tilford days. Lewlyn had put his valise down, and he and Edith spoke in low tones to each other, which Ira felt he ought to make all the more private by withdrawing a discreet distance away. He stood near the rail, appreciative of the tangy wind that blew so fresh over the river. But it had an edge too, and made him wish he had just one more garment to cover him, a sweater, a shirt, anything. Maybe Edith had one of Lewlyn’s pajama tops.
As he gazed at the lights of Manhattan twisting toward him across the rippling water like a gimlet, he was relieved to hear Edith say, “I don’t think we ought to wait.”
“I think you’re right,” Lewlyn concurred.
They embraced — eloquently. Lewlyn’s hat was off, his coat open, and nestling close to him, clinging to him with body and with lips, was Edith, her body within the coat, within the encompassing arm that held the hat. It was too embarrassingly beautiful a scene for real life — it was a scene to glimpse — and look away from: a man and woman clasped within a shaft of light.
They parted. And just then a band struck up, and music — a new Cole Porter tune — came wafting from an open door of the nearby saloon.
“Take care of her, won’t you? See that she gets home safely.” Speaking with voice raised above the music, Lewlyn pressed Ira’s hand.
“Oh, sure. Hope you have a good trip.”
Feeling himself wavering inwardly, and yet having to maintain an overt show of firmness, Ira took Edith’s arm and guided her toward the brightly lit gap in the ship’s rails where the uniformed guard, the ship’s sentry, was still standing.
She walked rigidly. They passed others coming up the lighted gangway, and she stumbled against them. Ira increased the firmness of his grip. They stepped onto the solid pier again. Ira looked back. Lewlyn was watching them from the rail, from the height of the deck above them. And it seemed to Ira that Lewlyn shook his head, sympathetically, and with a certain humorous camaraderie. Could it be that he was relieved to see someone else assume the burden? The two waved a last goodbye.
V
Ira supported the blindly unheeding Edith out of the pier, past arriving automobiles and taxis, over the indistinct cobblestones, back to the carbide brightness of the newsstand. She seemed utterly disoriented, abandoned, aimless. He dared not relinquish his hold on her arm. What was happening to her? So forsaken of self he had never seen anyone. With one hand on the banister and the other grasping her arm, he helped her descend the stairs to the change booth. She was mute the entire way; it was only when they stopped before the change booth that she spoke.